


he's not a siren

by megamegaturtle



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst and Feels, Crisscrossed love, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Inspired by the Little Mermaid, Slow Burn, merman au, so much research about mermaids & Paris kind of AU lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merman AU. Their meeting is orchestrated by fate, conducting them one at a time to step on the stage. With the flick of the baton, in time, they will sing the same song, but only if they aren’t swept away by the ocean’s mighty waves.</p><p>All Ladybug wishes is to have a Chat Noir by her side, but what Marinette finds is that maybe she just needs a more aquatic companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lontano - As from a distance

It is the kiss of a salty sea breeze that makes Ladybug ease her sprinting gait into a slow walk, high above the city’s rooftops. The summer’s night is feverish, humid and sticky as sweat gathers in her hair, beading down her exposed neck. With arms wide, she opens her chest and lifts her heart to sky, basking in the zephyr’s sweet reprieve hours after sunset. If she closes her eyes, she thinks, in this moment her duty doesn’t feel so vast. For if she can’t see, she’s the only one in the world. But even as she inches towards the edge of the rooftop, she can’t hold back the pride that sweeps through and makes her heart fill to the brim with affection as she looks over the city she guards.

Beneath her is Paris, and she can hear the happy chatter of citizens as they walk along a promenade, bags in their hands and cheer in their hearts. Picturesque street lights glow like small suns, creating a shield of light from the night’s darkness. From where she stands, she overlooks her home, counting the streets and avenues, her eyes scanning at each loved landmark, each humble home.

_This is what I live for now._

With one more deep breath, she settles with a smile on the ledge, dangling her feet tens of stories above the ground without a care in the world. In the next moment, there is a pink flash and as if the clock struck midnight, she loses her mask and turns back into a regular girl. Gone is the bright red spandex with spotted black polka dots and in its place is a simple white shirt and pink jeans.

A little creature nuzzles up to her in greeting, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “It’s not safe for you to be up so high, Marinette.”

Marinette smiles and fishes some chocolate chip cookies out from her bag, munching on one and offering the other. “If I do fall, you’ll be there to catch me, Tikki.”

The little red speckled kwami clicks her tongue and rests on the girl’s shoulder. “And if I’m not?”

Marinette hums, letting the question hang in the air as they gaze at the Parisian skyline, caught up in a world where those what-ifs carry no meaning. Up so high, with just Tikki resting on her shoulder, there is nothing she feels she can’t do. Together they are Ladybug; who is not only one, but two.

“We’ll figure it out when the times comes,” she simply says, her eyes drifting home towards the Notre Dame, its bells chiming in the distance. But as the bells toll, Marinette grips the concrete roof, the grit digging into her palms.

_If we are one who is two, then where is the other half of me?_

With a sigh, she lays back, the rooftop wonderfully cool through her cotton shirt as she watches planes flicker in the sky. Lyrics to an American song ring in her mind.

“Wasn’t  _he_  supposed to be with me?” she whispers, her words clinging to the breeze, haunting and low as the gale goes by.

But Tikki hears her.

Her kwami lets out a puff of air, her cute little cheeks going flat. Resting on Marinette’s stomach, her big black eyes soften as she pats her charge.

“Sometimes fate is funny and we don’t always meet.”

Marinette doesn’t take her eyes off the dark velvet sky, no stars to be seen due to all the lights in the capital.

“I hope it’s having a good laugh at least.”

* * *

Sleep clings thickly to her tired blue eyes as she tugs on some running clothes and shoes. Before exiting her room, she tucks Tikki under a tiny sheet and heads down the stairs. Her steps are clunky as she thuds down the wooden steps and Marinette can hear her mother calling for her to eat some breakfast. However, she throws a quick smile over shoulder and opens the front door, stepping onto the cool cobblestone street. Leaving the bakery behind her, Marinette is greeted by a bright sun whose heat is not able to caress her cheeks just yet.

With one final stretch against the family’s store, Marinette empties her mind and begins to jog. She wants to run, to make her lungs work hard, where each breath means something. It is the only thing that reminds her she’s human, and not a superhero carrying a city on her small shoulders. Her steps are even as she gains momentum, the trail etched into her mind like a map while she makes her way down La Seine to run on the left bank express sidewalk. The mist from the river cools her, the water calming while she accelerates forward.

 _One foot in front of the other, never go back._    

As she runs by pedestrians, happy to enjoy a break from the summer’s cruel heat, Marinette’s mind goes over her mental list of the day: 1) help out in the bakery, 2) babysit Manon for two hours, 3) see Alya for smoothies, 4) work on designs, 5) spend time with her parents, 6) patrol. It’s methodic, an easy to follow list, planned from the moment she wakes till the moment she sleeps. Just as it has to be so that she can keep everything on track between being a good daughter, a best friend, and a superhero all on her own.

Today she’s indulgent, treating herself to friendly human interaction and distractions from her other life. She just needs to complete this run and she’s one more step closer to her goal, one more second to being stronger. She realizes that she’s making better time today when she sees the Pont de l’Alma, the bridge to crossing La Seine, jogging the stairs two at a time. She laughs to herself, knowing that if she was Ladybug right now, she could pass this in the blink of the eye. Turning right onto Avenue de New York, she lets the thought spur her on, encouraging her that anything her alter ego can do, she can do too. But when the Eiffel Tower comes into view, for a brief second t her heart twists, wishing she had someone there with her to share the lovely scene.

_If only there was a boy–_

_Stop that!_

The tower is looming closer to her left as she sprints, her stride elongating as she pushes forward.  _Leave it all behind, leave everything behind_ , Marinette tells herself. One by one, she lets go her responsibilities, her obligations to everyone but herself.  _All you need to do is run, run to keep these people safe!_

Her lungs are burning, her breathing heavy as she heads towards the intersection of Port Debilly and Pont d'Iéna. She just needs to make it to that point at the start of the bridge so that she can cool down, so close to finishing her run. The air is thick, clouded by car emissions as she passes the tunnel, but can’t give up, not now.

With one final push, she enters that runner’s high and goes even faster, her legs gliding on the ground as she sees the the statue of some Greek hero beside a horse. (She can never remember which one it is, but he’s naked and that’s a good enough landmark for her.) The crosswalk is empty and there are no cars so Marinette books it across the way and skids to a stop so she can catch herself on the half stone wall overlooking La Seine.

Her heart is drumming in her chest and she feels like she’s going to throw up as she rests her head on the cool stone, but she’s here now at her destination. Checking her watch, she notices she’s done better today, running six kilometers in forty-seven minutes and seven seconds, cutting off two minutes of time since the prior week. Her bones feel like jelly and she wishes she had listened to her mother about eating breakfast, but nothing can dampen her mood–she feels like she’s on cloud nine.

The tower is ethereal and gorgeous; not necessarily its architecture, but mainly what it means to her.  _Love_  echoes in her mind, but instead of swatting the want away, she tucks it into a broken fissure of her heart, not yet sealed by superhero concrete. With a few swallowed breaths, she lifts her arms over her head, letting her lungs breathe better and stares out to the blue river in front of her.

“Today’s a good day,” she murmurs to herself, her smile bright as she feels her hair plastered to her forehead and her clothes sticking to her back.

After rolling the bones in her neck and spine, she lingers a little longer to gaze at the water, wanting to just drift along with its current and be a normal kid for a day. With one elbow propped on the wall, boats go along the river at a snail’s pace, the tourists on the decks snapping pictures of Paris as keepsakes.

Time pleasantly goes forward, relaxing and quiet, while she stands there, soaking up the rays. The sun is closer to mid-morning, angled just right when its beams make the water glisten and gleam, like sparkling diamonds in an undiscovered mine. A light bulb goes off and  _eureka_  is on the tip of her tongue before Marinette tosses her head back, groaning. In her mind, she can see the most perfect dazzling gown, three quarter sleeves and floor length, the shoulders and collar drowning in clear gems before slowly receding to reveal matte royal blue fabric down the bodice and skirt. However, to her dismay, her sketchbook is at home. Yet it is the splash that catches her off guard, snapping her head back to attention and peering over the stone ledge to see what’s down there.

For a moment, she thought maybe a child dropped something in the river, but no parent’s voice scolds and there is no baby’s cry. As she’s about to chalk it up to nothing, turning only a degree away, she hears something break the water’s surface, the tension shattered. She whips back, leaning over the ledge again as she studies the water and to her surprise, it’s a tailfin.

Wispy and whimsical, a large translucent black fin pops out of the water only to dive back in, dark black scales with a chartreuse sheen disappear under the surface again. With bated breath, she waits, hoping that whatever it was, it will come up once more for her to get a better look, but the seconds tick by into minutes and nothing happens.

Shaking her head, Marinette pushes back and beelines towards the bus stop, tired and ready for a shower. With a little stretch, she absentmindedly wonders what type of fish that was in La Seine, but she shakes her head at thought, trying not to giggle.

Truly, she must be seeing things. What creature would want to live in La Seine?

* * *

 

“So, I think I saw like a dolphin in the river today,” Marinette tells her best friend when she sits down. As an afterthought, she amends, “Okay, more like a really big fish!”

Alya furrows her brows together before breaking out into laughter and drops into her seat.  “Was this before or after your run?”

Marinette bites her bottom lip and sheepishly squeaks, “…After…”

But her friend only gives her a small smile, resting her chin atop laced fingers while leaning forward. “I don’t know why you’re doing these long runs, Mari. You’re already skinny.”

Marinette turns her attention away from her friend, Alya’s brown eyes too seeking for the truth. Instead, she decides to focus on a blond haired boy outside, his locks in a pompadour fade. “He’s cute, huh?”

Her reaction reminds her of a recent conversation she’s had with her parents the other night after dinner when they interrupted her from washing the dishes. Papa’s massive hand was still warm on the small of her back, her mother’s fingers gentle as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. They both wore matching smiles, small and hesitant, with concern filling their eyes.

She wondered if her father could feel the way her heart pounded in her chest, feel each beat reverberate down every disc. He only lingered for a moment longer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before taking his leave. Her mother, on the other hand, stayed and picked up a dish towel while Marinette dipped her hands in the dirty dish water on one side and ran clear water on the other. They didn’t say much, the only sound between them being the spraying of water as it splooshed and splashed.

“ _You don’t have to talk about it now, you know_ ”, Sabine said, giving her daughter a playful hip bump. “ _But one day, your father and I want to know what’s making you so distant_.”

Marinette couldn’t say anything meaningful, suturing the desire to tell the truth, burning it so that it could never open.

Tears burned her eyes when she could only breathe her thanks.

The plastic on Alya’s chair creaks as she leans back, trying to get a better view of Marinette’s line of sight, that jerks her back to the present. Alya lets out an appreciative hum, followed by a scandalized chuckle as she lightly pushes Marinette’s arm. “You should go say hi!”

Marinette laughs, swinging around in her seat and hunches over the small table for two, the surface sleek with a glossy paint and sputters, “I can’t–I can’t just go talk to him!”

Alya reaches over and pats her cheek as if she was a small child. “But you can run six kilometers like it’s nobody’s business?”

Marinette crashes her head on the table and plays with Alya’s purse, the beat up bag fraying on the sides due to all the abuse. She doesn’t say anything but lets out a heavy breath, wishing for a moment that he was here–whoever that meant.

Though, Marinette whines while sitting back up, and slumps in her chair. “It’s kinda hard to explain–” she starts. She glances up at Alya for a quick second, her friend giving her full attention. After a few more seconds of careful consideration, she settles on what she thinks is closest to the truth. With a small grunt, she heaves, “I just want to be like Ladybug, okay?”

Alya sucks in a huge breath of air, an awkward smile plastered to her face as she bobs her head. Both girls stare at each other, neither saying anything and Marinette feels like dying because this  _is_  Alya– _Ladybug’s most devoted fan_ –and she just told her what she can of the truth. And bless Alya, Marinette thinks, as her best friend tries not to laugh at her confession, to take her words seriously, but with every added head bobble, she just wants to curl up in a ball and never see the light of day again.

However, her best friend takes pity on her and clasps their hands together, the touch cool, but making her hopeful. Glancing up, Alya isn’t sneering or teasing, but the edges of her mouth quirked upward before pressing a few kisses to their fingertips. “Stop being so cute!” she laughs, a smiling lighting up her face. “Oh, Marinette–you’re like Ladybug in so many ways,” she confesses.

At her friend’s words, Marinette feels her face redden and swallows thick, but Alya continues, “You are already so kind, caring, selfless, and such a good person, but–” she pauses, her grip getting tighter as she stares at her right in the eye, her smile never waning, “If you truly want to get fit like my favorite lady, I guess I can support you and your stupid face!”

Though Marinette’s face is flushed pink, the coil around her heart lessens slightly, feeling lighter than it has in a while. She leaves her own friendly kiss on Alya’s hands and drags them both to their feet, hooking an arm around Alya’s waist.  

Her best friend leans her head on Marinette’s shoulder while the two girls go towards the counter. Marinette hums, affectionately rubbing her friend’s side. “So, your drink is on me,” she declares.

To that, there’s a pinch at her side and Alya replies, “As long as your drink is on me.”

And for the first time in a long while, being Ladybug and Marinette doesn’t feel so awful.

* * *

Correction: being both Ladybug and Marinette is always awful.

Case in point being now, as both Marinette and Alya are lost in a conversation, laughing and giggling over things trivial things, when thick strands of red hair slither down the street at breakneck speed, tangling citizens in its wake. A cord of hair breaks the glass and on instinct, Marinette covers Alya from the blow, glass shards only grazing the back of her blazer and arms. But there is no time to wander, to check if her friend hit her head a little too hard as Marinette grabs her by the hand and rushes them out the street.

Alya is digging in her pocket, trying to grab hold of her phone as Marinette tugs her forward, leading them down an alleyway where the foot traffic is less hectic.

“Stay here,” she orders, holding a firm grip on Alya’s shoulders.

Alya breaks out of the hold though, her face twisting as she shouts. “You are not going back out there!”

But Marinette only shakes her head, holding her friend in a tight hug. It is through quick calculations that she decides to push her friend down, stopping her from getting up for a few moments. Her voice echoes off the walls when she charges forward. “Ladybug isn’t here yet and I can doing something!”

She hears Alya call after her, screaming at the top of her lungs for her to come back, but Marinette ducks into a broken shop, shoving past people right and left for a place to transform. Quickly, she opens her purse and Tikki flies out, her round eyes going wide as she takes in the damage.

“Now, now Tikki! Let’s go!” Marinette urges, the screaming gaining in intensity as more people get caught up in the destruction.

Her kwami nods and like the fairy godmother’s spell, Marinette becomes Ladybug once again.

Ancient power surges through, lighting her veins like fire and making her feel new. It’s only a split second, but that taste of power is incredible on her tongue, making her believe that as Ladybug, she can really do anything.

That’s why Ladybugs are so lucky afterall.

Cladded in familiar red spandex, Ladybug wastes no time heading back into the street, searching for the latest akuma victim. In a matter of seconds, she scales up a building to survey the damages on the street below, swearing under her breath at the sight of so many people already trapped in various knots.

She hears her alter ego’s name being called and lets out a sigh of relief as Alya waves at her, one arm going wild as she holds on to her camera phone. At least, Alya stayed put like she was ordered, but that does not make the job any easier, not when her best friend makes it a habit to be apart of the thick of things.

Yet it is the sound of scissors snipping and evil cackling that draws her towards a large fountain, directing her where she needs to go. As she runs, this time much easier with no burn in her chest, she flies as though little wings have sprouted from her back, carrying her off the ground with ease. She wishes she had time to stop and free people from their cages as they flail helplessly in the air, but though she’s done it alone, experience has taught her that purifying the black butterfly will be much easier.

For the second time that day, almost eight hours apart, Ladybug skids to a stop, her hand to swing her yo-yo at a moment’s notice. Before her, she is greeted by a mad hairdresser, the strands of snake like hair coming from her head and she wields a large pair of scissors.

“What such pretty hair you have for Rapunzel,” the villain coos, combing long nails through that cute boy from earlier’s hair. “Don’t fret, love. I’m only going to take off a lot!”

Ladybug rears back her yo-yo, letting it zip through the air and smacks the scissors out of the hairdresser’s hands. The boy graciously clutches his hair as he runs away, thanking his lucky stars that his pompadour received no collateral damage. Rapunzel spins to Ladybug, her hair fanning around her like a protective shield, hissing all the while.

“People like to choose their own haircuts,” Ladybug quips, a smirk gracing her face. She’s been trying to work on her superhero slang, but quickly learned that she’s not really one to make puns in all the commotion.

Around her, she hears citizens cheer her name, giving her courage to face her latest foe head on and unafraid. She’s Ladybug, a person not made of one soul, but two.

Rapunzel’s face contorts in fury, a scream viciously tearing out of her as she lunges towards the superhero. Yet Ladybug is faster, just like she has always been, and skips out of the way in time. Though one of the hairdresser’s snake missed, the impact from the blow crushed the concrete to dust.

“Give me your stone, Ladybug, and I might give you this cut on the house!”

Ladybug tries not to roll her eyes, already used to their objective as she dodges hair that tries to encircle her feet and catch her off guard. Internally, she boils at the thought that once again people only get hurt because she has a power she didn’t ask for. Landing on a sturdy tree branch, she hurries to summon a Lucky Charm, knowing that the next few minutes are the only ones that matter now.

A circular solid metal object lands into her hands and the familiar sense of panic settles into her as she wonders what she’s going to do with it.

“Merde,” she curses under her breath.

 _There!_  she hears Tikki shout and Marinette turns her attention to follow a large stone. Then it all clicks into place at record speed, her eyes darting to a fire hydrant not too far away and landing directly to the trashcan lid in her hands.

Tucking the lid under her arm, she springs forward, ignoring the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of a growing crowd watching her escapades. But Rapunzel is relentless, refusing to give up as she whips her locks around, trying to sweep the hero off her feet. The timer on her stone blinks once; now only four more dots remain as Ladybug lifts a large slab of concrete and tosses it at the sole fire hydrant.

The trashcan lid clatters to the ground and Ladybug scampers to pick it up, hoping she’s fast enough this time to get to where she needs to be. Her earring beeps again, only leaving her with three more circles, and a bitter part of her can’t help but think how badly she could use a Black Cat this time around.

 _Not like he’ll ever come for me_.

Yet Ladybug is Ladybug, and luck is always in her favor as she dances and twirls right behind the shooting water. In a flash, she’s angling the trashcan over the spray, wetting all of Rapunzel’s hair and making it too heavy to move.

This part, like always, blurs together as she cracks a comb she finds on Rapunzel’s vest and releases the black butterfly. She whirls her yo-yo and reels the butterfly into the inner compartment, knowing somehow through magic she doesn’t understand, that all will be well.

“Bye bye little butterfly,” she utters, relief washing over her as her ritual is almost complete.

Tossing her weapon into the air, she shines a Miraculous Light over Paris, healing her beloved city once again from powers that seem to only exist to oppose her. As the soothing bubbles clearing all the debris, returning everything to its former glory, Ladybug does the same when her final circle beeps away.

After all, when the clock strikes twelve, the carriage always turns back into a pumpkin.

* * *

The sun has set late again, but tonight, Marinette decides not to roam the streets of Paris as someone else. Her arms still sting from the tiny glass shards, but nothing stings like Alya’s words running on repeat in her mind.

She had just stepped back into the crowd when a hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around hard.  _“How could you do that to me?”_  Alya screamed.  _“Don’t you ever do that to me again.”_

Marinette only whispered apologies as she hugged her best friend close, smoothing her hair as Alya cried into her shirt.

_“You’re no Ladybug.”_

_“I know–I know I’m not.”_

Going home was not as easy either, with her parents fretting over her and checking every last inch of skin as they looked at her wounded arms. She had no tears to give as her mother cleaned the wounds, using kind hands to tweeze the few shards out of her skin. Papa sneaked her a shot of whiskey that she gulped down as her mother rubbed the cuts with peroxide and wrapped them up with gauze.

She never sketched the dress she envisioned so thoughtfully by the waterfront, the glittering gems far from her mind.

Spending time with her parents didn’t happen either when she solemnly went to her room too–deciding that it was best to eat dinner up there.  

So, when she snuck out of her room tonight, she did not do so by leaping from her balcony, using her yo-yo to grapple her across the streets of Paris, but instead took careful steps down those wooden stairs. Tikki didn’t say anything when Marinette didn’t grab her purse, just deciding it was best to settle in the hood of a black sweatshirt.

With no destination in mind, the two halves of Ladybug find themselves perpendicular to La Seine as they wander by different judicial court buildings like the Palais de Justice on the boulevard. It stands tall and impressive, the mason work simple and supported by fat circular columns. There are large windows, huge and grand, that makes it almost look inviting and right. Yet as Marinette lingers, she can’t ignore the colossal and imposing iron rod fence, the tips plated with golden metal that shines while taxi cabs zip by. The center gate is ornate, big and bold, locked up and unmoving as it is guarded by a chain.

The symbolism is not lost to her as she claws at her heart, feeling a similar chain tying her to duty and justice that seems to have no key. It is fate for me, she concedes, to be bound to this other side of me. Tikki nuzzles her ear, whimpering as if she can feel the storm brewing in Marinette’s heart.

“Don’t worry, Tikki,” she says while the two sets of eyes look at the site before them. “You’re worth it.”

The red tiny kwami lets out a sigh and Marinette finally tears her eyes away from the building continues walking to La Seine.

Between them it is quiet, which is not new for the pair; always in sync and in tandem with one another. Yet it is the small gasp that Tikki makes which piques Marinette’s interest, humming her question as the world feels less overwhelming.

“I was just thinking we need a change,” the kwami starts, a giggle in her voice. “And lo and behold! We’re at Pont du Change!”

Marinette’s eyes search for the sign and she can’t help but grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling. As the sign points forward, the allure of something new makes her heart skip a beat. “Should we take it?”

Tikki’s voice is soft and hopeful, almost knowing as she trills. “Yes, yes!”

At her companion’s excitement, Marinette laughs and pushes ahead, her steps lighter. It doesn’t take long for the two to make it to the bridge, the pathway empty at this hour. On all sides of her, buildings are glowing and bathing the world in orange. Like most nights, it is just the two of them, gazing at the world as they look at the scenery, the river dark as it flows in the city.

“This is nice,” Marinette speaks, letting out a happy sigh. “Just you and me, and no akuma.”

Tikki flies down to sit on the railing in front of her change, swaying side to side. “Times like now are my favorites.”

Using her hand, she gently pets her kwami’s head, her words teasing. “I still think if we just followed Chloe around, we could stop akuma attacks from happening.”

“Marinette!”

“Shush, you,” she chuckles. “What if someone hears you!”

Grumbling, Tikki quiets down and breathes deep, building a bubble just for the two of them again. In the distance, there is a somber song, haunting and deep, drawn out chants and notes that hold no words.  _If rivers could cry_ , Marinette thinks as she listens, _this is the sound they would make_.    

“A Black Cat will turn up soon,” Tikki says lowly, her voice knowing and wise as the hymn tapers away. The water laps against the channel’s edges and splashes.

Marinette never takes her eyes off the river, the chords of the song still ringing in her ears, resonating in her chest.  _If my heart could sing, would it know how to reply?_

But that thought doesn’t make her any less lonely.


	2. Arioso - Airy or like an air; melodious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for all the kudos, subscriptions, and comments! I was really blown away :) you're all amazing.

It is more than busy on the Boulevard Haussmann in the 9th District of Paris, people going to and fro from place to place. Even as the afternoon sun drags steadily across a clear blue sky, the air remains comfortable as tourists and families enjoy what the city has to offer. With careful hands, foreigners hold their phones up high, bending their backs to take snapshots. For them, each photo is a thousand words; allowing them to fall in love with elegant buildings, tall with precise and clean architecture, and absorbing in awe the crafted spectacle of apparent French refined city living. However, it is past expensive apartment buildings, and instead centered around Parisian sophisticated shopping, that Paris’s superhero finds herself today.

Tucked in her purse, Tikki rests easy with sweet snacks to eat and a full battery to play mobile games–living quite the high life for a kwami. Yet, beside Marinette’s usual companion, the second part that makes up her crime fighting self, she is not walking alone into one of Paris’s most renowned and famous department stores. Stepping in stride, her father Tom is dressed smartly in a pressed shirt and casual slacks–ready to take on the day, even without being covered in flour.

Her small beige heels click on the sidewalk, her eager steps jostling fresh art supplies–pens and pencils–and making them rustle in their paper bag. It is a rare day indeed for both father and daughter to be out together on a Friday afternoon and away from the bakery, but today’s special and Marinette could not be more excited.

_No kitty cats to worry about today._

In the short distance away, deep red banners that appear to be woven from rubies, hang from one of Paris’s most famous department stores. The words “Galeries Lafayette” are printed on the multiple signs, the serif font clear and readable as she approaches. Eagerness swells in her chest as she looks upwards to the sky at a grandiose billboard demanding to be seen.

Blown up to be larger than life, Felix Agreste smirks down at the small people beneath him, his hands straightening his tie. He wears his trademark crooked smile while he narrows his piercing green eyes, seductive and unattainable all at once. In the picture that has to be at least four stories tall, he stands confident and proud–a perfect representation of his uncle’s brand: G by Gabriel.

A surge of ambition blitzes through Marinette, the brand’s famous G symbol lingering in her mind even after she tears her gaze away. She stands a little taller as she enters through the golden department store doors, practicing for the moment one day when her clothes will be sold here too. But it is her father’s warm hand that grips her shoulder that sweeps her away from her daydreams filled with adoring fans and business deals.

“One day, ma petite puce,” her father laughs, his hand rubbing loving circles on her back.

Marinette giggles and rolls her eyes playfully, before looking away. With a smile, she takes a few moments to soak up the view of what she considers to be the most gorgeous store in all the world.

At the top of Galeries Lafayette is the magnificent glass dome, which Marinette thinks is worth the trip to the boulevard alone. Like the interior of a Fabergé egg, a sun rests at its tip, the stained glass forged with inner blue fire and surrounded by burning orange rays. And as if illuminating a world colored with grasses and skies, the two parts are then encircled by a legion of hearts. Each heart is filled with greens and yellows where it is most full, while the centers are dotted with reds.

The designer in Marinette breathes deep at the sight of the iron work, its lines lofty and feminine. Like vines that grab hold of a garden’s lattice, the metal wraps around each other with sweeping swoops and dips, sprouting leaves that only sunbeams can touch. Both the dome and the store continue to follow the curve of an egg when delicate knots rain down the glass to its edges, each a perfect duplicate as they fall in line.

Women and girls continue to peruse the beauty department on the ground floor, and it makes Marinette wonder how they cannot be moved by the gilded golden arches above them that grace the fourth floor balconies. Another small sigh escapes her as her blue eyes travel down each terrace, perfect for an opera with each store as its own show. And though she cannot remember the name of long dead Greek heroes, the words  _Art Nouveau_  are not only seared in her mind, but also on her soul.

_Art really is the way of life._

Her mind is printing every detail to memory once again, knowing that even in her dreams she will miss something. She hears her father chuckle once more before guiding them both to a customer service counter.

There is a noticeable spring in her step as they walk on shiny cream tiles. Around them, various luxury makeup associates smile and greet them, asking if they need anything. It is all so overwhelming and sweet, Marinette thinks, the way that this store feels otherworldly compared to others. Yet her steps only become more excited as the allure of expensive makeup disappears and she remembers their true objective: coming to Lafayette’s.

“Thank you for taking me, Papa,” she starts with an appreciative hum, “but you never said who is going to be presenting at the show?”

Hazel eyes only spare her a glance before a knowing grin brushes the underside of his mustache. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

She wants to quip that he never said it was a surprise in the first place, but before she knows it, they are both at the counter, welcomed by a lovely lady in a black two-piece suit.

“Good afternoon,” she says with perfectly white teeth. “How can I help you today?”

At ease, her father rests his hands on the counter, and replies with pride. “My daughter and I are here to see the fashion show at three o’clock.” Holding out both his thumb and forefinger, he beams at the woman. “Two for Dupain.”

The woman’s smile only widens, her glee only slightly contained by professional protocol. “You’re in for a treat today I heard,” she tells them as she  flashes a look at Marinette. “May I see some ID?”

After they receive the tickets, father and daughter make their way to the elevators, people buzzing with chatter all around them.

In a low tone, Marinette tugs on her father’s sleeve, “Do you know what’s going on?”

But her father only gives her the same look again, his answer not much different than the first. “Wait and see.”

It doesn’t take long for the pair to get to the fourth floor–despite that the elevators are more crowded than usual–to reach their destination. Marinette enjoys a peek over a balcony for a brief second, watching shoppers float around like pieces in a large snow globe, before she is caught up in foot traffic to a large room in the back. She notices press passes hanging from people’s necks. Not only that, she realizes, but also that other guests to the department store’s weekly fashion show are dressed up more formally than normal. There are wild outfits, all so unique and audacious, as they enter the room. Some are more urban and modern, bright and bold like fashion magazines. Others are dressed more traditionally, tailored two or three piece suits and cocktail dresses, but she knows for a fact that everything looks very extravagant.

As an attendant takes their tickets and shows them to their seats, Marinette hopes that she and her father aren’t underdressed because whatever this fashion show is today, it’s certainly not like the normal ones at the Lafayette. Those, while fun and informative, only showcase new collections that will be coming to the store in a relaxed setting.

Today is less relaxed, no matter how content her father is acting as he sits down. Looking down at her pale pink dress, she tries not to let nerves get the best of her. Whoever is presenting today will just have to accept that Marinette made her own dress, stitched each flounce of the skirt. She spent countless hours hunched over her work table while she created the lace pattern on her back using needle and thread by hand. It was beyond time consuming, but Marinette has never been more proud to wear something of her own creation, the blooming flowers on her back proof of that.

Though they are seated more towards the back, Marinette looks over a few heads and shoulders and her breath hitches when she sees the glass catwalk, raised a few feet off the ground and filled with water. There must be a current, as little waves lap while bright tropical fish swim up and down the runway. On the walls, there is fancy Galeries Lafayette script printed; but to her dismay, no mention of the designer they are seeing today.

Brushing the bangs out of her eyes, she sits back in the seat and pulls out her sketchbook, drumming a pencil quietly on its spine. She tries checking on Tikki when her father isn’t looking, but the little kwami shoos her away, very engaged with a show playing on Marinette’s phone. Instead, she turns her attention to the world’s most important reporters and fashionistas , where she hopes to find herself one day, as they wait and chat amongst themselves. To her side, her father fiddles with his smartphone, large thumbs smashing the screen as he plays a game. But it is when she’s trying to listen to the various conversations going on around her that the lights begin to dim.

A hush falls over the audience, words tucking themselves away back into people’s mouths, hiding as someone walks onto the stage. Footsteps echo when a man wearing polished leather shoes goes down the length of the catwalk, as if it is his kingdom. Her heart crawls into her throat, beating so quick and fast, and Marinette thinks that the catwalk is indeed his kingdom, as Gabriel Agreste commands the attention of the room like a king–no, a deity. Breathing doesn’t matter when her idol is only mere yards away. To think that today would be the day that she would see in person the very being whose wearable works of art inspired her when she was just five years old to become a fashion designer!

In the stage light, his platinum blond hair is flushed almost white, like a crown of ice adorning his head. It matches perfectly with his famous pristine white suit, pure as snow. But there is nothing about the designer before her that reminds Marinette of fluffy snow puffs, for Gabriel Agreste is the tundra personified.

The world stops spinning on its axis, pausing to witness the moment he speaks, each word pronounced crisp and clear.

“For those who do not know me, I am Gabriel Agreste,” he begins as a polite formality. Marinette almost snorts despite herself, thinking that if someone here doesn’t know who he is,  then they don’t quite deserve to be here yet.

Like his nephew, he stands tall and proud, regal with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Fifteen years ago, I released my  _Siren Song_  collection–a woman’s line inspired by the sea itself.” At total ease, the man in front of her never raises his voice, his words slipping softly to be heard by every ear. “But as years have passed, my love for the sea has not waned and I am here to surprise the world today by reintroducing to you all the siren that stole my heart so long ago.”

When he pauses to let the audience gasp, there is slight twitch of the corner of his mouth. Even Marinette is floored when she hears the news, filled with joy, and almost breaks her pencil in half.

“So, not only will there be will pieces from the core collection, but there are new additions–fresh and modern for 2015.” With one more look around the room, Marinette almost dies when he makes brief eye contact with her. “Enjoy.”

The spotlight cuts for a brief moment when he exits off the stage, the room only glowing from the lights in the catwalk aquarium. However, the light shines bright back on the first model that appears at the base of the runway, wearing a loose fitted white dress, fluffy and flouncy like sea foam. Music plays, a mix between the soothing songs of the sea, a female singer, and piano, each pulling and tugging each other for a moment, before fusing together in perfect harmony.

Behind her about fifteen seconds later is the next model, wearing a longer and looser fitted dress in blue. From there, women walk down the runway in blues and greens, their dresses airy and full like the ocean itself. The skirts of their dresses roll like waves, mimicking the ones in the current at their feet, going back and forth along the stage.

There is a change in the tempo, the pace picking up as women come out in stylish pant suits colored like shades of kelp, their hands tucked in the pockets. Mixed in are short cocktail dresses, each with a sharp triangular skirt, made from shimmery fabric in yellows and oranges, speeding down the catwalk like fish in a rush. Marinette is trying her best to take as many notes as possible as the show continues, her shorthand messy as she fills the pages with words like red corals, empire waists, and charmeuse fabric.

The room stops breathing, jaws dropping when only the female singer continues to sing, her voice like velvet. With slower steps, like a bride walking down the aisle, a model with light brown hair wears Gabriel Agreste’s legendary dress, said to only be stitched only by his hand and never sold: The Siren.

Marinette feels starstruck, overwhelmed and thankful that she is being able to see this dress being modeled in her lifetime. The photos she has seen of it do not give the gown proper justice, nor capture all of its beauty. She is dazzled, her heart about to pop out of her chest, as she memorizes the swoop of the sweetheart neckline, forming a perfect heart on the woman’s chest. She desperately tries to study the how perfectly the pink and plum beads have been threaded to look like exquisite scales run down the length of the garment. And it is the fabulous lilac trumpet skirt which makes the most flawless mermaid tail that makes Marinette truly speculate that her idol might just know magic. For, in her mind, there is no way a mortal man could ever know how to make fabric fall so effortlessly as it touches the ground.

The woman continues to sing when another model wearing the second white dress of the show enters the stage, her dress more tight fitted then the first, almost as if rope that is binding and suffocating.  _Like sea foam that recedes_ , Marinette thinks,  _it kisses the shore, but then washes away everything_.

But this model is not the final one for at the very end, as Felix, the face of G by Gabriel himself, makes an appearance, dressed from head to toe in a black suit with a chartreuse silk scarf around his neck. His face twists for a second as his fingers brush the scarf before he wears a stoic expression. Now, Marinette recognizes that scarf, the simple accessory said to be a favorite of Agreste and in the images from old magazines, it was the most wistful she had ever seen him when he held it.

It doesn’t take Felix long to journey down the runway, his long legs powerful and empowering as he moves like a feline. When he turns at the end of the runway, doing as all models do, Marinette is surprised just how green his eyes are in person. And as if reading her thoughts, he sends a smirk her way before fully turning around to walk back to the start of the runway.

In seconds, all the models return to the runway once more to give the audience a final view of all the outfits. When the thudding of their footsteps cease as the last model goes backstage, the room goes dark and everyone bursts into applause, swept away as if the sea itself took over the show. Marinette and her father are clapping just as wildly as everyone else, and she firmly believes that she just witnessed the best thirty minutes of her life thus far.

In her excitement, she grabs hold of her father and gives them the biggest hug she possibly can around his large frame. “I love you so much, Papa,” she starts as she buries her face in his side. “Just… wow. Thank you!”

She feels her father press a kiss into her hair and can hear the smile in his voice. “Of course, my love. You’re a good girl.” Pulling away, he puts his hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and get us some drinks. You stay here and maybe mingle.”

Marinette smiles, waves him goodbye, and surveys the room as the regular lights turn on again. She’s positive that she’s one of the youngest people in the room and going up a stranger, no matter how important they might be for her future career seems a bit daunting. Yet it is the sound of someone yelling that makes her look towards the aisle of the room, the footsteps loud and heavy as they charge towards the exit.

“Felix!” a man shouts, an earpiece hanging in his hand.

But the famous model ignores him as he walks to the door, almost as if any strip of ground is a catwalk, his long legs floating. Marinette wishes she could grab her phone and take a picture, but she’s forgotten to use her hands, so she stares gaping at the blond supermodel approaching her direction.

He slows though when he feels her eyes on her and Marinette wants to hide because his cheekbones are even more handsome in person. And his stare more cold.

“What’s your name, little girl?” he asks from the middle of the aisle.  

Her eyes go wide, unsure how she got so lucky. Maybe it’s a Ladybug perk!

With a swallowed breath, she pushes out with only a little squeak, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

He merely strokes his chin, eyes examining her pale pink dress and she resists the urge to bunch the fabric in her hands. “Well, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he parrots. “Did you make this dress?”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a stiff nod.

Felix only rolls his eyes and deadpans. “I’m only twenty–not old enough to be called sir.” With a fluid motion he slips off the scarf he was wearing in the fashion show and tosses it at her. She fumbles with it, but thankfully catches it. “Anyway, your dress is decent, little girl. That’s a reward.”

Marinette can only stay rooted to the floor with shock, clutching the chartreuse green scarf to her chest as he leaves, without letting her say anything in return. She’s still standing there, her eyes boring into the door, when her father comes back carrying two water bottles.

“Is everything okay?”

With a breath, Marinette glances down at the scarf in her hands before looking back up at her father. “I’m not sure,” she starts, annoyedness and gratefulness all rolled into one.

Her father furrows his brows together, gazing down at the fabric in her hand. “Isn’t that the scarf that model was wearing earlier?”

His daughter hums an affirmative, unease remaining in her chest; yet despite the rough attitude Felix gave her, she still feels hopeful. Which is  _something_  that’s certainly a nice change, for once.

_Well, we did walk Pont du Change, after all._

With a final thoughtful pause, Marinette looks to her father, more certain than she has felt in a long while. “Maybe things will finally fall into place.”

_With or without a Black Cat by my side._

* * *

 Hours later, father and daughter make it home while the sun sets, painting the sky a spectrum of colors, various soft reds and warm oranges. The bakery is lazy, sleepy and comfortable when they get inside and, after giving her mother a kiss, Marinette heads upstairs.

“Did you have a good time with your father, Marinette?” Tikki asks when they are finally alone in her bedroom.

The young superhero has only just kicked off her heels and lets out a moan of satisfaction as blood circulates more easily in her feet. Collapsing on her lounge chair with a minor melodrama, Marinette squeals as she takes the kwami in her hands, “It was like a dream come true!”

Tikki giggles, her high-pitched voice soft and sweet, as she plays with the bow on the side of Marinette’s dress. “Yeah?”

Marinette only lifts her head to stare at her friend in disbelief, looking scandalized that the speckled creature would think otherwise. “You know it was!”

Tikki only shakes her head, laughing at Marinette’s dramatics before bouncing off and fetching something. A few seconds later, she’s back and drapes the chartreuse scarf over Marinette’s belly. She rubs her cheek into the silk for good measure.

“So soft!”

Marinette feels the scarf, letting the smooth material caress her fingertips. Sitting up, she examines it closer, enthralled with the golden embroidery at it’s edges. Much like how the collection was inspired by the ocean, the thread is stitched to look like little tides, each identical to the other. Skimming her fingers over it, she wonders if she is touching a holy relic, curious if Gabriel Agreste made this. However, her interest is doubly piqued when she notices a different design, very tiny, stitched in a corner.  

 **A.A.**  it simply reads.

However, despite that she wants to ponder on this, extremely interested in her idol’s life, her cell phone begins to play and Alya’s ringtone sings through the air.

She dives for her purse, digging for the phone and ends up half hanging off the bed and on the floor when she answers. “Hey– _gah_ –girl!”

The sound on cars zip by on other line, but that doesn’t stop Alya from sounding excited. “There’s an attack happening at the shipyard!” she rushes and Marinette can see the huge grin on her friend’s face. “Come down to hunt Ladybug with me!”

Marinette can’t help but drag a hand over her face, wondering the day when Alya will manage to stay out of harm’s way. But she has bigger problems to worry about when she lies, something she’s getting better at as time goes on. “That’s way too far from me so I won’t be able to help you in time.”

 She hears her friend sigh through the phone, disappointment laced in her words. “Yeah, you’re right.” After a pregnant pause, she exhales, “I’ll keep you posted, yeah?”

Marinette gives a nod that Alya can’t see, but it makes her feel a little better. “Please do.”

There’s a click that signals that Aya hung up and Marinette hurries to put on some shoes–her flats!–just something so she won’t be barefoot and it’s up to the roof. In the distance, Paris seems calm and Marinette takes it as a good sign.  

“Ready?” Marinette asks, her hands gripping the railing.

“Of course!”

And like always, it is the fairy godmother’s magical spell that combines them, turning both Tikki and Marinette into one person: Ladybug. The flash of pink light engulfs her, a mask forming just from the swish of her fingertips. Next is her uniform, red and black polka dotted spandex, weaving right unto her body by millions of tiny invisible hands. As the final piece, her yo-yo materializes at her side and she’s off in seconds, swinging from rooftop to rooftop as quick as she can go.

Ladybug makes it the docks in record time, jumping and leaping over houses as fast as she can when she exits Paris’s inner ring. Unlike the center of the city, the docks are not very well lit and–to her relief–not very occupied at this hour. Alya isn’t in sight, but her attentions turns away from looking for her meddlesome best friend as she hears the latest akuma victim banging shipping equipment .

He’s about to break a truck in half when Ladybug coils her yo-yo around his wrist.

“You need to stop!” she yells. “You’re being controlled!”

He tugs his arm back, the motion making her lose her footing and the line goes slack. “I’m the Worker, and I’m going to run this place out of business!”

The superhero rolls her eyes and lunges forward, hoping to at least distract him and piece together how he got into this state. She barely dodges a large metal beam he chucks at her, doing a full roll before standing up. It is then that she sees a dark purple slip of paper sticking out of his pocket.

“I see you,” she sings to herself. “Lucky Charm!”

Her yo-yo goes up in the air, lucky bubble hearts creating the latest talisman to help her win this battle. In a few spins, an object forms and a rollerblade drops into her hands.

For a brief second, she presses her lips together and groans, “And just want I am going to do with you?”

Yet like always, as ritual demands, her Ladybug sight activates and everything makes sense. Her eyes dart to a old big tire, then to the skate in hands, landing to the metal beam behind the man, before finally going to her yo-yo. She grins to herself, and is ready to set her plan in motion.

The Worker tries to charge at her, his buff arms swinging as he tries to grab something to throw, but she has already pitched the skate at the tire, making it bounce to land right in front of him for him to slip on. And as if on cue, the man tries to maintain his balance, yet since his arms so heavy, he leans backwards making him roll towards the beam. As he falls, Ladybug tangles him up with her yo-yo and steals the paper from his pocket, ripping it firmly in two.

It’s clockwork, she thinks as she tosses the skate into the air and the healing light washes away any Akuma damage. For she is Ladybug, and winning the fight is excepted. In seconds, the world is back to normal and like always, she helps the latest victim to his feet, making sure he’s okay before she tries to take her leave.

But, of course, she had forgotten all about Alya when she hears her superhero name being shouted most enthusiastically, and sees her friend rushing towards her with a phone in hand. Ladybug is about to scold her, reminding her that it’s dangerous to be out so late alone when extra footsteps trot not far behind.

“Alya! Don’t run so fast!” Nino says, his face sweaty and his glasses foggy.

Ladybug lets out a sigh of relief and puts both hands on her hips. “You two shouldn’t be out here.”

Alya is only smiling, her face lit up like fireworks as Nino rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Sorry, Ladybug.” With a thumb, he gestures towards the redhead and gripes, “This one here is your biggest fan.”

The superhero fails to suppress a smile and shakes her head. “Well, fan or not, if you have to capture a battle, do it in a safer area.”

Both teens bid her farewell as she takes out her yo-yo and swings away; although, as she is jumping, she realizes just how quickly the stones are beeping in her ear. She makes a slight grimace, but she’s Ladybug, after all–no reason to worry about her luck running out.

_Right?_

However, she forgets that at her core she is not Ladybug; she is actually Marinette. And like the same Ladybug who does not have a Black Cat, she is the same one who misjudges how much time she actually has for a transformation. All of this comes full circle when she makes a large leap from one side of the river to another, when in mid-swing the clock strikes twelve and her magical suit and yo-yo disappear.

Time stands still as Marinette and Tikki split into two beings again. She feels like she is suspended in animation as sees the red kwami next to her, her eyes closed in exhaustion. Marinette tries to reach for her friend, her arm lacking her superhero uniform as they fall towards the water.

The impact is painful, slamming into her as she crashes into La Seine. The air is knocked out of her chest and foul water floods her mouth before she struggles and starts to zoom towards the surface, her dress clinging to her body as she shrugs off her shoes. In what feels like eternity, she finally breaks the water’s surface, oxygen burning her lungs with every breath she gulps in.

Then it hits her harder than the impact of the fall.

“Tikki!  _Tikki!_ ” she screams, ripping her throat apart as she tries to see anything that resembles a floating red dot.

Panic washes over like the very water she’s in and she begins thrashing, flailing her arms erratically. Her legs are kicking and even though she feels a bruise forming on her stomach, she can’t stop looking.

“Tikki! Answer me!”

But there is no call and Marinette feels like the world is ending–that she is losing her very soul as the thought of  _she’s dead_  repeats over and over and over in her mind.

_Dead, dead, dead–ladybugs can’t swim!_

Still, she refuses to give up; and even as tears stream down her face, even when it hurts to speak, she still searches for the other part of her. Someone is dragging her backwards, their hand wrapped around tightly on her arm. Marinette goes ballistic as she attempts to fight them, wildly kicking and struggling to get away. She doesn’t have that chance, however, as she is literally tossed onto a small piece of concrete and left alone at the edge of the river.

She is about to dive back in seconds later, when she sees a hand pop out of the water, holding her dear little friend. In all of the commotion, she doesn’t care about how Tikki got back to her, and melts with joy as her terror bleeds away. She snatches the kwami from the person before her, pressing Tikki to her chest as she whispers millions of apologies repeatedly.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

_With my heart and soul._

But that same hand from before places itself on her knee and even though Marinette is in pain, sopping wet and cold, it is enough to shock her back into reality. Looking up, her eyes stinging from polluted water and tears, she finds is a boy not too much older than herself, wearing a gentle smile. It’s dark, but she still notices a black mask around green eyes as he reaches his other hand towards Tikki. On instinct, she shields her friend, but suddenly, like a spell, soothing waves lap over her and she feels relaxed.

With trust for a stranger she never knew she possessed, she lets him look at Tikki. His grin grows wider and in her daze, Marinette thinks it looks pretty. The bracelet on his wrist lights up, all the shells glowing, and she has never felt so warm. Then, like a flash, she blinks and feels normal again, no hurt remaining as Tikki stretches with a yawn.

Big blue eyes flutter open and Tikki smiles at Marinette.

“Good morning,” she mumbles sleepily.

Marinette can only hiccup, a giggle rising out of her as she rubs Tikki’s head with a loving touch. “It’s nighttime, silly.”

Tikki smiles back sheepishly before turning around. In her palms, the kwami makes a small jump and only utters, “Oh.” There’s a little laugh as she flies over. “I haven’t seen one of you in a long while!”

Marinette follows the red movement and everything comes rushing back to her as she looks at the boy staring at her. And, even though this should not be bizarre for her because she’s Ladybug and fights possessed people everyday, that still does not make this moment any less surreal.

For the boy who just perched himself beside her on the concrete slab, with a shimmering black and chartreuse tail, is in fact a mermaid.

Or rather–a mer _man_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Galaries Lafayette is a real place and they really do have a fashion show each Friday at 3 PM! The glass dome is gorgeous and I really want to shop there.


	3. Bitonality - the use of only two different keys at the same time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where we finally get to interact with Adrien :)

Her name is _Mother_ , the small hum one makes when they smile. The same short hum they make when they know the answer, too, for Mother always knows. That is her name now, the title part of her identity that ties her to him. For she is his mother and he loves her.

(Of course, he can’t ignore her other other name: Atar, Daughter of Atargatis, The Great Siren of the Sea, Singer of Demise, Cousin to Undines and Nereids, and the Sea Witch of Song.That name is best sung with reverence, a perfect note sustained with a held breath and vibrates from the vocal cords.  But he knows her greatest name is Mother, after all).

His name is _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East_. That is what makes the Adriatic Sea so special, after all; the sea’s rotation differs from  others, making poor water pool West while clean water goes East. He’d recognize his name sound anywhere too--the slightly held hum in the back of one’s throat before dropping down to the chest for a brief second. That is his name, the swirling of warm water conveyed in two notes.

He has a human name too--Adrien--a homage to his real name, for it means the Adriatic Sea, but it doesn’t hold the same weight. How can he translate the magnificence of his name in human terms when it is so stationary, so static, and so much unlike the moving current that is his essence? But it is a name chosen with love, his mother told him, his real name and his human name being his father’s suggestion, as that is where both his parents met and fell in love.

His mother also has a human name given to her by his father: Song, but he does not think that name is truly fitting for her. For a song is not the same as singing and mermaids and sirens and mermen are all so expressive, constantly moving, never idle like that thought. Yet humans do not think with ideas and concepts, so bound by words like they are to land.

Adrien--or _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea_ \--still thinks it’s a shame that humans cannot have their hearts truly intertwine for a moment when someone sings a song or touches them with loving fingertips, and feel another person’s emotions, just like the push and pull of the Moon above. For that is what language is for those underwater; it is tactile and intimate, a connection between one’s heart and mind to another as they exchange experiences. It is shared and sung, although no words are needed.

But though he considers humans to be odd, he can’t deny that being human is half of what makes him whole. And despite him being a child of the sea, to the other half of him--to merpeople--he’s the son of a siren, and that’s a little odd too.

However, his story doesn’t start by depicting with what makes him an oddity amongst those with fins or legs, but rather focuses on what he lost. Or rather, who he is lost for she is not an object, but Mother. And even though he calls her name and holds her hum until he feels like his voice will bleed, his journey begins leaving the sea that he knows.

His sisters tell him otherwise, wanting him to stay safe in which is his namesake, but they don’t understand the pull of land and the tug of knowing that answers lay elsewhere. Because his sisters are sirens, beautiful and scary, whose songs kill men just like his father, not theirs since they died long ago. And his father, this Gabriel, _A man who uses God as his Strength_ \--a name meaning Adrien doesn’t understand for does that mean that Mother is his father’s strength for she is a goddess of a sea? Or does it mean some static human image he doesn't comprehend--just who exactly is he?

Is he as strong as his need for this other god? He has to have some strength, Adrien thinks, because he survived a siren song. And it's these thoughts that the young merman gathers, just like he gathers a merger satchel of things, that give him hope as he enters a new sea.

Because unlike his home, warm and free, filled with sharks and dolphins and green sea turtles, using the stars as his guide is not as easy to read as the coral reefs. He knows those, he knows every crevice and cave from the shores of Italy to the beaches of Croatia. But this new path, one he has never travelled and just relies on instinct alone is not as trustworthy and not as safe. Yet currents whisper to him, lulling him like his Mother’s voice to go, to see the world through new eyes and seek the answers he desperately needs to know.

The map kisses his brow, a dotted line forming just for him to see in his mind’s eye. It’s left there by a power greater than he is, greater than this God is father is supposed to cherish, and without waiting to see the sun rise high in the sky, he leaves. And the map’s legend and destination that only leads to more questions, revolves around a cat, a ring, and ladybug taking him to a famed human city called Paris.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She has been called resplendent, confident even as her current snakes through Paris, an unchanging character in the city’s landscape. For she is the movement, the reminder that life never stands still as she catches tears from the lonely, the scared, as they cry from walkways above and banks beside. For she is water, a source of life and must not stop until she runs dry.

And that is what she is, La Seine... a river of breath that hypnotizes lovers from bridges to confess secrets, and pushes them to go forward, to click locks in hope of something better. For La Seine is a chameleon, wearing glittering sapphires and emeralds that sparkle on sunny days to only adoring, polished onyx in the dead of night when the moon lights the way with song. And rivers only weeps and floods city streets when the world is going wrong.

Yet despite that tonight, like most nights, a man proposes on one knee while surrounded by gleaming street lights overlooking a pretty river, the river herself isn’t paying attention to that moment of a new beginning.

Instead, she pauses, if only for a mere second in eternity’s clock, to where one young girl rests on a concrete slab contemplating what is mystical and what is not.

Her dress is tattered and torn, the delicate lace she spun to look like  beautiful blooming flowers wilt as the thread frays. Her side no longer stings, the pain gone like magic, but that doesn’t allow the memory--the crash, the fall, the impact--to wash away from her mind. It doesn’t stop the renewing panic of thinking Tikki dead and gone from springing up from the edges of her soul, only for her eyes to remind her otherwise. The foul taste of river water clings to her tongue and glues itself to the thin membrane of her lungs. But it’s hard to pay attention to all those seemingly little details now, impossible really, as she stares with wide blue eyes at the sight before her. And that would be the merman sitting next to her.

Tikki is chattering something in his ear; whispers of a language she does not know skip between the three of them. The merman only smiles dazzling white teeth that contrast the stippled ink-like mask tattoo surrounding his sparkling green eyes. The kwami giggles and nuzzles his cheek to give affection and thanks, and in return, he lifts gentle and long fingers to pet the quantic god.

Marinette can only open and close her mouth much like a fish, but she’s not certain that thought is good in current company. The scales on his fin shift between chartreuse green and black in the low light reflected by the water. However, as her eyes travel up the length of his tail, it lingers on the dichotomy of his anatomy: human and fish. Or, well--she thinks that that part of his is human because how different can his upper torso be from hers? Because her eyes can indeed recognize that the tanned skin that covers the ridges of his abs and--

_Oh my god, I’m checking him out!_

Which is to say, she can’t be blamed because there are not enough words to describe just how beautiful he is. Of course, he is otherworldly, different and exotic, but even just his face alone is swoon worthy. He has high cheekbones and a perfect angled nose with a smile that lights up so bright. And his face is just perfectly framed with long blond hair, that is drying and becoming handsomely messy in the moonlight.

The mental list of his sculptured perfection comes to a screeching halt when his hand finds hers, the same long and gentle fingers brushing against the back of her hand. In a gesture that only lasts a few seconds, electricity tingles in the path he traces. Marinette wants to say that it’s the informal touch from a strange creature that scares her, but that’s not it. It’s not even the way his fingers feel on her skin, for they feel just as human as hers.

No, it’s not his touch on her physical form that disturbs her, but instead the feeling of calm seeping into her bones as her body physically relaxes. It’s as if she has been dumped into a bath, soaking with fragrant oils, scented in lavender and honey. A part of her wants to melt, her body feeling like jelly and leaning into him for just one moment, because this is pure bliss. But that’s the problem: this is too unnatural and unreal to actually be happening.

She rips her hand away and cradles it to her chest, her mind reeling while her heart rate remains slow.

Tikki has stopped talking now and finally turns her attention back to her charge. “Marinette?”

She feels as though she is falling again, falling and falling and falling straight into the river. _I’m hysterical_ , she thinks. But she can’t shake the feeling of the dread that fills her with the idea of them both dead and now this merman who saved her and plays tricks with her emotions.

It’s hard to be hysterical though when her body isn’t responding to the same panic that floods her mind, so Marinette takes a deep breath and presses her lips together in a firm line. “This is all...” she starts, tossing a few words around her tongue, “overwhelming.”

At her words, the merman twists his body so that he is facing her better, but his eyes, the sparkling color of green much like the shimmering scales on his tail, are unfocused. It’s as if he is looking over her shoulder instead of at her. Like he can’t see that her blue eyes are growing angrier at his rudeness. Perhaps it is the hour and that everything has gone to shit, but Marinette doesn’t stop herself when she moves the same hand he touched and waves it in front of his eyes.

He doesn’t blink or even follow the movement, his eyes still as unfocused as they look over her shoulder, but like a flash, he grabs it. Marinette gasps as he squeezes her hand and tries to pull it from his hold, but he doesn’t say anything, almost looking like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. What does he have to be upset about? For the longest time, Marinette wonders why Tikki is silent too, but that thought is broken when the kwami speaks.

“Marinette, don’t struggle,” the quantic god commands.

Marinette freezes and gives her attention to the kwami. “Tikki!”

With a weary sigh, Tikki flies until she’s right in front of the girl’s nose. “I know that tonight has been crazy,” she says with an apologetic smile. “But he’s just trying to talk to you.”

And though Marinette has stopped squirming on her perch, she’s still skeptical. “By holding my hand?”

Tikki laughs and bops her charge’s nose. “Not everyone uses words like how you do.” With soft eyes, she adds, “Don’t think in words, but think in images, with feelings. Legend has it that merpeople speak through touch, through song. Now, be the open minded girl I know you to be.”

Marinette lets out a groan, wanting to fall back on the concrete slab and throw a tantrum, but she refrains. Instead, she gives a sidelong glance to the boy next to her before peering down at their joined hands, his tanned fingers cupping hers. Though it’s weird and strange and she doesn’t understand, with a reluctant puff of air, she squeezes his hand in solidarity: proof that she’s there.

Closing her eyes, she focuses on the warmth of his palm and follows the inexplicable calmness that has seeped into her cells. Converse with feelings, she tells herself, so with a deep breath, she tries to do that.

She’s thankful for that he saved; the feeling reminding her of a sudden gale that clears away stormy clouds. And she’s still shocked and even a little scared. Those feelings can be best described as a childhood memory of when she’s hidden behind a couch, shivering and stunned as she realizes she’s lost her parents in a big super store. She’s also nervous and wary, much like a skittish cat that hisses when someone gets too close, yet she’s also curious; big blue eyes reading a book with shyness over the material...

Peeking one eye open, she dares to look at his face and finds that his expression is open and free, a smile bright like moonlight glowing as her thoughts stop--oh goodness, he really is handsome. And his grin only grows as her heart picks up speed, a flush creeping up her nape to her ears. It isn’t until her hand starts to feel clammy in his that she realizes that she’s still holding it.

She lets go with a small shriek and she’s positive that he’s laughing because his shoulders are shaking and he’s making a noise similar to laughter, but it sounds little catches of air caught at the back of his throat. Tikki giggles too and Marinette is about to scold her for the betrayal when she catches the he sight of purple sprawling on his side.

This time, he’s the one that freezes when her fingers lightly skim the bruise that stretches across his stomach up towards his rib cage and wraps around his side. He must feel the burning questioning in her touch because he looks suddenly guilty and ducks his face away from her sight.

And even if he doesn’t speak like how she does, he must understand exactly what she means when she whispers, “What happened?”

The merman starts to make a growl, a key that rumbles like thunder clouds before he stops, realizing that his language can’t be translated through sound. Much like how she was earlier, he lets out his own exasperated groan before grabbing hold of her hand again with his own two. With his thumbs pressed to her palm, her eyes go wide as her vision fades to a sight she knows she hasn’t seen before.

For the merman slips away and she’s transported to a world that’s dark with colorful outlines. There is the pull of the river that wants to push her along, but she stays in her spot effortlessly swimming through the water. However, her attention snaps to the surface above when she hears a muffled scream and then a shattering fall that ripples the waters. In a world that is dark and made of surroundings she can’t see, a colorful outline fills her sight as it begins to sink to a place it should never tread, for those things are definitely not fins.

At the realization that she’s looking at herself, the memory fades and she’s no longer swimming towards the surface, but back to sitting on the concrete slab. Her breathing is ragged and her mind feels hazy as her normal sight comes back to her. Her chest is heaving to gasp for breath again, so confused and unsure exactly what happened.

Her eyes drop to his side and guilt washes over her like the river’s waves. “That bruise is supposed to be mine...”

Finally, he lets go of her hand because he knows that she knows the truth, whatever the truth means right now. The merman tries to shift away, his tail splashing water where they both sit, but Marinette grabs his upper arm, her fingers encircling the wavy band tattoo there. Her grip is firm as she tugs him gently not to go.

The plea falls from her lips, but dies when she can feel her stomach churn, roll over, and flop with anxiety. It hurts, the knot twisting her insides and making her want to throw up. Yet she knows this anxiety isn’t hers, but his, and never has her heart gone out for someone as it is right now. Because she feels what he feels; she knows the fears that crawl up her throat and prick at her eyes that make her want to cry. For she is too lost in the swell of emotion that is dark and afraid, chaos swirling her to a black hole of something that obviously the merman can’t control feeling.

So, Marinette does the only thing she can think to halt the feelings that are currently pouring into her soul: she comforts him. Breaking the connection they have by her hold, she quickly pulls him into a hug, her leg awkwardly bumping what would be his thigh if he wasn’t so scaly. He stills as the top of her sternum rams into the point of his shoulder, pressed somewhat painful to the bone, but she doesn’t let go. Her chin digs into him and her hands clasp together to keep him in where she has him

 _It’s a frozen moment, much like a teenage movie_ , she thinks. The lead boy and girl somehow together through happenstance that will tie their lives together longer than either will think. But this isn’t a movie--no, this moment isn’t created in the thin reality of true loves and forevers that seems short because this is no first date.

This moment is real and it’s maddening because she’s hugging a merman with all her might so he just doesn’t feel alone . He’s already blind and he can’t even speak; all she has is touch to truly convey her thoughts, and despite this being the most frustrating thing to happen to her thus far, she can’t stop. Not because she wants to stop, but because her life is honestly a lot easier without throwing mystical beings into the mix (case in point, Tikki and akuma).  But she gets it.

She understands feeling alone, that loneliness that slicks his soul, because she’s not a normal girl, but a superhero who might just have to save the whole world. And if there is one thing that being Ladybug as taught her, Lucky Charms don’t have to make sense, they just have to work.

Thus, she pretends her Ladybug sight is activating and looks for ways to fix the problem at hand. Her charm is a hug, but there is more that she can do... she just needs to find it.

_If dreams are a wish that the heart makes, then singing must be how the heart talks ._

It comes to her naturally, just as if she is wearing her suit, the realization to the answer she needs. Memories come into view as her as child singing songs from animated movies that meant more to her than the world itself. She hums songs about princesses and princes and magic and mermaids, caught up in lyrics about love and life and what it means to fight for something that is right. There is no ending or beginning for what she sings; they all blend together into the most perfect ballad of something that isn’t darkness itself, but something else entirely. And Marinette doesn’t know what that something else is, for it is something written in the narrative that she can’t actually comprehend, but she’s hopeful that it’s _something_ worth reading.

However, he hugs her back, his torso twisting so that they are pressed chest to chest, she tries her best to quell the bashfulness that paints her cheeks, her ears, her nape. It’s totally worth it , she thinks, when she can feel his thanks in the embrace.

And because she is a teenage girl hugging a boy that is slightly more than friendly, but not exactly romantic, her heart thumps two beats more than usual in a given second. When they pull apart, green meets blue even if his eyes can’t exactly see, her heart beats twice more. _Maybe this is a movie_ , she thinks, _and maybe that’s okay_. For this moment is picture perfect and each wears mirroring tiny smiles, small and sweet. Yet his fingers are searing her skin when they find their way to her bare arm and all his worries bleed away from him.

Reaching out, Marinette places her hand on his and reaches to the bottom of her soul to convey the very emotion that says you’re my friend . It’s happenstance and chance, truly serendipity they met, but right now, all Marinette feels is the sudden rush that swells in her chest friendship and instant connection. It’s a ticklish feeling that pebbles her skin as she transfers her immense fondness for him to understand.

His face goes adorably pink when receives her message through her fingertips and sees the depth of her feelings from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He sends his own wave of joy, hot and overwhelming, but not unwanted, as his reply.

Yet the moment is ruined when both hear ruckus from a group of teenage boys yelling and shouting while having an apparent good time. All warmth slips away and Marinette’s emotions reset to just being hers. A part of her feels a little empty, a somewhat lost and lonely, when the connection between the two of them is lost.

Smoothing her hair, she feels tangled knots matting at her loosen pigtail. Clearing her throat, she looks for Tikki. “We should probably get home now…”

Tikki tries to grin, but it comes out smug as she smirks. “We probably should.”

The reassuring thing, Marinette notes as she stands up, is that no matter the species, all teenage boys becoming awkward after being extremely emotional with someone. Keeping a chuckle suppress in her mouth, Marinette lays a hand on his shoulder to tell him that she wants to meet him tomorrow.

At the contact, the merman’s face looks up at her, his brows knitted together in a question. She opens her mouth as if to say something when panic washes over because how does one exactly tell a merman with feelings that they’ll see them tomorrow? Is she supposed to think about the sun or something, have it high up in the sky to signify noon? She can’t just blatantly say _Hey, let’s hang out tomorrow, you’re pretty rad._

At noticing her growing alarm, Tikki laughs and files over, deciding to take pity on her charge and convey the message for her in that same forgotten language Marinette is positive a human has never heard.

* * *

 It is far past curfew when Ladybug gets back to her bedroom. This time when her transformation releases, neither Marinette or Tikki fall into a river because of bad luck, but land comfortably on her bed.

Which Marinette hops off as quickly and quietly as she can because she’s still soaked to the bone with filthy river water. Peeling out of her ruined dress at lightning speed, she is left only in her undergarments. It’s not the same as heading to the bath of course, but she makes a beeline to a drawer and pulls out a package of baby wipes to clean the grime off her skin. Better than nothing.

Tikki settles on the back of her computer chair and watches the white cloths turn gray as Marinette swipes her arms and stomach. Like a light bulb that hits her, she asks, “What are we going to tell your parents about your phone?”

Marinette lets the dread roll off her and grabs a fresh wipe to scrub her other arm. “I’ll tell them it fell in a public toilet,” she says matter-of-factly.

The kawmi scrunches her face together, her little rounded nose wrinkling as she does so. “That’s so gross!”

Marinette pauses and looks her small friend dead in the eye. “Not as gross as the time Alya dropped hers in a port-a-potty, then fished it out because she forgot to put things on The Cloud.”

Tikki immediately turns green and dramatically pretends to faint, falling backwards off the chair. Landing on the cushion, Marinette hears a few giggles travel from where the kwami lays. “Why is everyone you know so weird?”

Smiling, Marinette chucks the used cloths into a wastebasket and laughs. “You’re saying they’re weird, when you’re the one who’s a god?”

“Yep!”

Shaking her head, the girl walks away and lets a breath of air fall from her lips as she grabs her pajamas from the dresser. Weirdness is a weird thing and really can only be described with itself, Marinette thinks. For saying that things are odd or weird or strange is all saying the same thing, but in the end, it’s just something that’s not normal. And upon reflection, meeting a merman is not normal by most people’s standards. From where she stands Marinette can hear Tikki turn on her computer, and as the Windows chime plays in the air, she has to concede that to most people, Tikki isn’t normal either. Because really, how many people have a quantic god come randomly in their life to transform them into a hero?

But in all actuality, to not meet mermen or have gods in her life would be abnormal for her at this point. She’s Ladybug, first and foremost; a part of her she can’t deny, just as she can’t deny that she’s both French and Chinese. Her life is a constant mixing of cultures and people and things: whether it be her two self identities blending into one, or how she keeps finding herself making relationships with non-humans. Regardless, by most people’s standard’s, her life is not normal, but it’s normal to her. It’s routine and familiar.

Her hand is on the dresser knob to close it when it hits her. Spinning around wildly, she drops her clothes from her hands.

“Tikki! What do mermen even eat?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long hiatus guys! This chapter was really hard to get out with all the merpeople things. I really wanted something new and exciting :)


	4. Poco a Poco - Little by Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we learn all sorts of things about Adrien <3

There is a haze as he feels the ocean breeze kissing his cheeks, the distance murky and muddied. Felix stands at the shore holding his mother's hand and watching his uncle take lofty steps in the sand, leaving no footprints behind as he goes.The world is grey, barely shaded black and white, when the only color that blooms in the monochrome scenery emerges from the ocean. Light glows, honeyed and warm, evaporating greyness in its wake.

He’s five years old in a constant stream of memories that repeat a time he can't forget. Other children read stories about fairy tales and mermaids and sirens, but Felix _sees_ it with his own two eyes. It doesn't occur to him that this is a dream at first, because they are always so _real_ , the cusp of feeling almost at his fingertips as he digs into his mother’s palm. The breeze that touches his face is faintly real too, just like the salt that tickles his tongue. Reality is a blur, not truly real, but not really false either.

 Yet it pops; dissolves away like sea foam left too long on the shore as Plagg rests on his shoulder, his green eyes striking in this world of nothingness.

“So you really saw her, huh?” he asks, his cat ears twitching in the quiet.

 _When you put your ear up to a sea shell, you’ll hear the ocean sing_ , he remembers being told once, but it has only now occurred to him that this ocean makes no sound.

The voice of a child answers because, right now, he is indeed a child. “Yeah.”

Together, both quantic god and boy watch as Uncle Gabriel walks into the sea, water soaking his slacks as he wades further to the light. His uncle moves with urgency, with _excitement_ , as his audible laughter echoes in this hollow world. He’s already waist deep, the cuffs of his shirt drenched, when there is a burst of light and there _she_ stands.

The Great Siren of the Sea steps out of the column of light, the ocean that she rules becoming a floor for her to walk upon (how a mermaid gains feet, he isn’t sure). And it is in this moment, the exact one where the light fades from its pillar to only leave her  wearing a halo, that Felix realizes he’s in the presence of a goddess. In all of his years to come, in the memories that spring forth from where they were trapped in his subconscious, _she_ becomes the standard of what is beautiful in the world and what is not.

Her arrival brings life; it brings color to his dream with a starburst explosion--blues, yellows, and reds for everyone to see. Her hair is woven sunlight and from where he stands on the shore, perfect peridot eyes find him. The length of her gaze is a spark and the sand’s dullness melts away into warm tan. Her smile holds the softness of the moon, gentle and kind, as she pulls his Uncle to stand equal to her on the water. And when his Uncle sees her--the goddess he considers to be his wife--he smiles, and it’s dazzling, his face full of affection and love as he grabs hold of her face with two hands to kiss her on the mouth.

 _Now this is love_.

And love between two people can easily multiply and manifest into another being, Felix realizes, because he has now just noticed the bundled wrapped sweetly in the siren’s arms. His mother crouches down and whispers to him, her voice tickling his ear.

“That is your baby cousin, my love,” she tells him, her eyes marveling at the sight before them too. “His name is Adrien.”

_This is love, too; love that forms between me and you._

For a dream of a memory that is frozen in time, it always surprises Felix how quickly the warmth blooms in his own heart upon learning that he has a cousin. Because despite he has lived this dream more than once, it always hits him that this is his family. A strange family--broken and odd, but growing. A family comprised of single mothers and workaholic uncles, but who love young Felix all the same.

A family where the first time he experiences a father’s love is not from his own father. Instead, it is by watching his Uncle Gabriel gently take baby Adrien out of his wife’s arms to cradle him lovingly in his own--a baby, part siren and part human. There are myths, he knows, like Jason and the Argonauts, where the men lost their lives to the beautiful harpies who ruled the seas. But Felix knows why they died and  why his Uncle did not.

Adrien is proof of that.

He knows that children are born by the union of a man and a woman, but what he’s seeing before him transcends all of that. For family is more than blood--it’s love aided by magic to be unconditional, and the spells whisper their incantations from him to see. Love like this is magical, pure, and powerful. It leaves death in its wake, unable to claim even a mortal soul from a siren’s song. And binds two unlucky people into one, letting another being become the symbol of their love and becoming all the luck they’ll ever need.

He’s happy and content as joy swirls in his heart because their bond is palpable, it is physical and here. And though he is not one to smile--even as a child--a small grin nonetheless finds its way on his face, one that he can’t contain. _Because love is unconditional and there is nothing more unconditional than being happy for others._

“Isn’t that amazing?” Plagg whispers, his voice unusually hushed in awe.

Hearing the kwami startles Felix, forgetting that his dream of nostalgia is being shared instead of being private. But for once, Felix thinks that’s okay, and his smile grows wider.

“Yeah, they really are.”

It’s as if the voice has fluttered away, though, caught up by a zephyr in a world that his mind creates, and flies to the Great Siren Mother. She stops cooing at her baby and her husband, pausing for a brief second to look back to the shore, and then she smiles so big, the apple of her cheeks almost making her eyes disappear. The white mask that paints over her eyes, stippled like clouds, shrinks as she grins. And the same white marking that is over the center of her lip stretches with her happiness.

But it is now that Felix will never forget; this look of pure beauty and love and family when the Great Siren Mother waves them over, her arm making a large circular motion, a sign that is universal in any language.

Because this is why they’re here in Croatia, on this warm beach miles away from any other human: for family to come together. Beside him, Felix’s mother lets out a laugh and tugs him forward. All he can see is her light brown hair, watching it sway side to side in this world now full of color. And though her face is now blurry, having been so long since he has seen it, her words remain the same.

“To family we shall go,” she sings, playful and happy.

Felix agrees, a more than usual enthusiastic hum coming from the small child as his flaxen hair bounces in and out of his vision. There is laughter all around and love--agape love--that speaks louder than song. Holding his mother’s hand, he and she race toward the water, stopping only for a moment to kick off their shoes and to feel the grit between their toes. With steps that are slightly unsure yet still full of courage,  they step onto the water, delighted and mystified to find that they are able to walk on it too.

Like a dotted line, both he and his mother make their way to his uncle, the ocean water floor cool on the soles of his feet. In a matter of seconds, they stand beside Uncle Gabriel and his siren wife, this Great Siren Mother, as she takes back baby Adrien in her arms to hold. Shyness floods little Felix’s soul and he hides, clutching onto his Uncle’s pant leg, only peeking out one green eye to look into pretty peridot ones.

Uncle Gabriel smooths his unruly hair and chuckles. “It’s going to be okay, Felix,” he says. “Uncle is here.”

 _Uncle is here_ , words that were said more than once, also echo in this moment because indeed, this is when Uncle Gabriel remained a happy and joyful man. And it can be said in the way his uncle picks him up, grabbing young Felix by the waist with two strong yet gentle hands, hoisting him up to see the ever loved baby Adrien.

Throwing two arms around his uncle’s neck, Felix peers over to see the baby and is comforted by the soothing rubs on his back his mother gives him as they gaze there together.

“He’s so tiny…” Felix says in astonishment, never having seeing a baby before like this--not a baby to call his own family before.

With a hesitant hand, Felix reaches out and pets fine blond hair, his heart filling with love when the little Adrien grabs hold of his finger. “And he looks like me…”

“Of course he does!” Uncle Gabriel says with a smirk, pressing a little kiss to Felix’s hairline. “The both you take after me and my good looks.”

On cue, both the Great Siren Mother and his mother roll their eyes, chiding his uncle for his arrogance, but there is no malice. Everyone is content, standing on the water and celebrating the fact that a baby is here.

“I love you, Adrien,” Felix says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them. Because that’s what children do--they love at first sight, and there is nothing more amazing than having a baby cousin.

At his confession, with his heart so full he feels like he’ll burst, Felix is excepting that the memories will continue to play out. That he’ll feel his uncle laugh again and be set down to hold the baby in his own little arms... But that doesn’t happen. The memories don’t move forward, don’t continue, and the world slowly turns back to grey.

And in a blink, Felix is no longer five, pure and filled with wonder, but instead twenty. Now, he stands with cooler eyes and a heart less likely to fill to the brim with familial love _because where has that been for the last ten years_?

He can feel the ring, baby Adrien’s ring--the ring the Great Siren Mother gave to him in a very similar dream--on its chain press against his chest, the heavy burden he has to carry because that was is expected of him.

The world is grey and she is grey too when she reappears, the Great Siren Mother, now looking older and tired.

 _He’s close, my child_ , he hears her say, those peridot eyes that he knows but can’t see pleading to him. _Protect him_.

Felix fingers the ring on his necklace again, given to him in a dream like this not too long ago and only nods, a promise springing up from the cracks of his heart.

“I will.”

* * *

 

If there is one thing _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea_ \--or really, Adrien, if he must--has regretted in his in his life, it is that he has not made more of an effort to meet his father’s side of the family. Because honestly, given the current situation, it would be useful knowing humans in a human-filled world. But as he sits grumpily on the bottom of this filthy river, grateful that he has some of his mother’s magic stored in her bracelet, he concedes that maybe his many siren sisters were right about wanting him not to go to Paris.

Not that he would ever tell _them_ that.

Personally, the young merman feels like he can’t be blamed entirely for his actions because he was named after a current that prides itself on being different than other currents. So, therefore, if he wanted to use science--that’s the logical study humans use, right?--then his given and true name is more than enough evidence for his unusual behavior. But if _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East_ , known as the slightly held hum in the back of one’s throat before dropping down to the chest for a brief second, had to be completely be honest with himself: he sure was in a mess of things he didn’t quite understand.

 _For what sense are these visions when_ this _ladybug eludes me?_

However, those brooding thoughts that clamour with anxiety and fear disappear when a bag full of stones crash the water’s surface, like the sound of thunder coming from above, and sail effortlessly to the bottom. The stream of bubbles floating away in its wake is all the message he needs to kick his tail into action and move towards the surface. He can’t help the grin that finds its way to his face, pulling at his cheeks when the warmth of the sun lands there.

It reminds him of home.

But what is not of home is _Little Red Covered in Happiness_ , the god that walks on air as his Mother walks on water. He hears the telltale sound of her small body slicing through the air, and the outline of her form glimmers the same as stolen ruby gems his sisters have. She is smaller than his hand, but he does not doubt the power that rests in her soul. He can feel it, the unlimited magic that flows through her. She calls his name, though her voice is slightly higher as she hums it, and touches his brow in greeting.

He taps her brow as well, signing her name with the quick punch of a note that tickles the top of his throat--small, but full of joy.

 _Little Red_ chirps, her speech doused in the language of old ones that now sleep on the ocean’s floor. “The One Who Rises _waits in shadows._ ”

To that, the merman whose human name is Adrien--though he is still coming to terms with it--finds a smirk crawling up his face, just like how baby turtles waddle to sea. “ _How are her emotions today?_ ” he sings his question as he follows the outline of _Little Red_ . “ _Will she run away again?”_

The god laughs, the sound reminding him of birds. “ _You overwhelmed her yesterday, but she is in good spirits._ ”

 _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea_ chuckles, the noise swirling in his lungs before pushing out through his mouth. And even though he knows it is rude, he can’t help but enjoy the memory of yesterday. It was just after he’d learned her name’s meaning, this girl’s whose name he doesn’t understand in her native tongue, but _Little Red_ translated enough for him to grasp. And in the end, her name reminded him of waves, wonderful waves that comprise his world. So when he went to hold her hand, he flooded her instantly with good feelings, with all the happiness that bubbled around his heart and through his fingertips.

For despite being human, her soul is easy to see. It is pink and blue, a building momentum of waves about to reach their fullest potential, but not just yet. It’s her nervousness that holds her back, it’s her self-doubt that lingers in every touch, but first and foremost, she is _brave_. A brave soul whose pink is turning deeper, becoming a brilliant red if she seeks it out. She can be whoever she wants and her power will crash over this world; flood it with her strength.

It’s there, he knows it.

But being unsure still resonates and bounces around her entire being. Little grey spots cloud who she is and make her shyness creep through to the forefront. And at his praise, all good and happy things that filled her to the core with happiness of his green, the same color that filters through the water when the sea is less blue.

She pulled her hand away again like on the night they first met and he could feel the heat from her skin. Her heartbeat was erratic, thudding in her chest as they sat close by each other, away from prying eyes. And in such moments, Adrien wished he could _see_ her, know exactly where the contours of her face fell and learn if her eyes were as blue as the aqua that colored her soul.

 _Yet to see would mean being_ seen _,_ he thinks again, because what good is seeing the human world if he isn’t invisible. Biting the inside of his cheek, it occurs once more to him that life would be much different if he was a siren, a lovely and scary creature of the deep. He could be a sea witch and have magic spring free from his voice and his fingertips; have an unlimited source of power derived by the oceans to use however he saw fit. But as a pink and blue outline come into view, it only affirms that he’s not a siren--just the son of one.

However, when he hears _The One Who Rises_ call out to them happily, her shouts cheerful and cute, he thinks that being just the son of a siren isn’t too terrible. Because at least he can _use_ magic, even if it costs him something (like not being able to see to remain invisible). And magic is what brings him to the here and now, to a joyful girl he thinks as his friend. He knows what she’s feeling the instant he touches her hand in greeting. It’s a gentle drum of fingers on her palm; he can feel the blush that rises to her cheeks, and knows exactly when she thinks him handsome.

Sometimes being pretty, even if just amongst those who walk on land, is worth not being completely normal.

 _Little brother, you’re so beautiful_ , his sisters would praise. _So lovely and pretty like Mother._ Their words were never said with disdain, these powerful sirens who were of the highest superiority in the world beneath the surface--direct daughters of the Great Siren Mother herself. Yet there was indeed distance between _Adrien_ and the world he lived in--a _pretty_ merman (no seaweed hair or blobfish face), a son of the siren, a male magic user.

His birth had made things rather more complicated than they should have been.

 _What use is the Great Mother if she can falls for the charm of a_ human _man?_ merfolk would whisper, the sounds of their low notes traveling through the water nonetheless. And though he needs to physically touch _The One Who Rises_ to understand her feelings, there is no mistaking that emotions are more transferable in water than on land. Just as the ocean fills wherever there is a gap, emotions crawl the same way, touching all until there is nothing to touch.

 _It was exhausting_ , he thinks, _but at least not so lonely._

Melancholy washes over him, pricking in the roundness of his cheeks, and _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea_ lets out a sigh as he pulls himself out of the water to sit beside  _The One Who Rises_. He vaguely hears her say something to _Little Red_ , her concern far away and distant in the darkness that now develops his sight. How sharks could stand to see like this constantly boggles his mind, sensing energy and outlines only so useful it seems.

The darkness doesn’t feel so vast when there’s a hand at his shoulder and _The One Who Rises_ squeezes it, her fingers trying to emit soothing sensations with her touch. It honestly just tickles, but it’s enough to snap the negativity he’s feeling and he’s able to tuck away deep, deep down for now.

He reaches up and lays his hand over her fingers, barely touching her soul with his apologies, a mere drop of what he’s feeling. She giggles and he imagines her smile would be warm and kind, like summer sun when dawn finally breaks. He can see the pink of her smile cloud the sky in his mind, gentle and soft across the blue that is her soul.

 _Yes_ , he thinks _, that’s what her smile has to look like_.

“ _We brought you food again_ ,” _Little Red_ trills and all images of sunrise fade from his thoughts.

A warm bundle is placed between him and the girl. Though he can feel the heat from the food--breads and fish, his mother called them--she gently guides his hands until they hover over it. With a small nudge from the god who floats in air, he can’t contain himself and starts to eat, less than sharp siren teeth tearing into the softness.

Human food is one thing Adrien thinks they’ve gotten right.

Beside him, both of his companions start eating as well, the air somewhat lighter as food hits his stomach. He’s reminded of treats his sisters would bring him as a child, when they would go explore the land with two legs.

His tail bobs along in the water, the fin caught in a cold current. Next to him, _The One Who Rises_ bumps into him, her knee--the lower elbows, right?--touching his scales. The difference between the two of them is there even if he can’t see it, but he knows it. And it’s like he’s watching his sisters leave the ocean and dance on land, leaving him behind again.

Involuntarily, he hums--low and rumbling in his chest, a sad song that connects forgotten notes. It’s like small human things that float to the seafloor and are never found again by their owners. Or a baby whale calf that doesn’t know where it’s mother went. Or it’s like how he’s lost---

But there is a push and shove at his back and he let’s out a startled yelp as he falls into the cold water of the river, his mind going blank as he hears _Little Red_ scolding her charge. They’re muffled sounds, like he’s caught in a stream of bubbles, but he hears them. Breaking the surface, he breathes and when he sees the outline of red and the outline of pink and blue, colors flash before his very eyes.

They’re both angry, that is evident from the way they keep shouting, as they keep arguing because _Little Red_ thinks _The One Who Rises_ is being petty (as to why, he isn’t sure), but that only makes her colors deepen. And the soft pinks and blues that he noticed are changing right before his eyes, turning deeper and deeper in a whirlpool of shining aqua and determined lava-red.

And when _The One Who Rises_ realizes he’s breached the surface, her fury is directed at him instead. All he sees is the swirl of her soul coming closer until she’s leaning over the ledge she’s using and grabs him by his upper arms. Her fingers are digging into his magic mark on his arm and for a brief second he sees her eyes, and they are blue like the sky.  

It’s gone in the same second, the emotions channeling through her only disrupting his magic for a moment... but he saw the sky for the first time in what seems like forever, and his heart is thudding in his chest.

She lets go and he pulls himself out of the water again, his face feeling flushed as he tries to collect himself, but the chance never comes. For she grabs hold of his face with two hands and knows that she’s making him look directly at her. _I am here_ , her feelings all but scream at him. _I am here! Right here! You are not alone!_

Her forehead is pressed against his and he knows that she’s embarrassed, with her emotions all over the place as she tries to keep her heart rate down. After one, two beats, she tells him again, softer this time: _I am here_.

And despite the fact that he’s not a siren and not exactly a human, a little bit lost and more than confused, all _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East_ is able to do is smile, and he feels it dig into his cheeks.

 _I think I love this girl_.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this chapter was reallllyyyyyy inspired by origins if you couldn't tell lol


	5. Empfindung - Feeling

The moon hangs overhead, a painted picture of smooth white across an inky black sky.  The soft glow only lights the world where darkness creeps. It ignores most of Paris and - the artificial lights shining so brightly from all the lamps. For in this city, the only stars are the ones connected by wires and those millions of faux suns outperform one measly moon miles.

But it's not to say the moon stops shining, stops cutting the dark with the blade of its light. The only difference now is that instead of wielding a broadsword that cleaves the night in two, it now carries a thinner blade, but it’s just as deadly as the first. With the glint of the steal, the moon hacks away only part of the darkness, just enough to reflect off the water below.

In this age of big cities and bright lights, this is enough for the moon. And this is enough for Ladybug as she runs, runs, runs through her beloved city. A well lit city where in every shadow there is a light for her to find. No corner is unseen by her detail trained eye.   

 _It’s been two weeks_ , she thinks, her mind wandering just like a warm summer breeze. _It’s been two weeks that I’ve known a merman._

She’s named him _Minou_ because for some reason he loves cat. That was an interesting revelation, when her mind was filled with cat like creatures, slightly warped, but cat shaped nonetheless. The reason how he knew what a cat was was still lost a bit in translation, but there was no mistaking that cats were indeed his favorite animal as he flooded her system with enjoyment.

He’s given her a name too--a name sound that is all her own. Three hums, two high, one low in an alternating echo. He’s compared to her the waves, great tides of the sea that dance with the moon’s pull. Forever moving, forever being in swaying motion of chance and determination. The fall and rise is supposed to be like her name meaning--for when she falls, she always gets back up.

And she does, she thinks, as she races towards the latest akuma destruction because for once she feels truly alive, like she has wings that can actually make her fly.

 _What is this feeling_?

 _This is what they must call_ content.

Where there was a hole in her heart for not having a partner by her side, it has quickly been filling to the brim with _him_ \--with Minou. Only her precious kitty doesn’t need four paws and a bell, but instead is just her friend.

Her amazing and wonderful friend who has shown her that the world is more than just responsibility and order and things that have to follow the clock’s route. For now she is going counterclockwise, now she’s finding her own destiny and carving her own path as Ladybug. Her shoulders no longer feel so heavy, no longer burdened with things she ought to do instead of things she wants to do. She wants to be Paris’s protector because she loves being a superhero, and lately, she’s learning to love herself.

Her, as in Marinette, the girl who is never enough, but still tries to succeed. The girl with big dreams, wild dreams comprised from sketches upon sketches with designs for her wonderful tomorrow. The same girl whose life has been thrown out of order when a pair of earrings came into her possession and showed her with a large mirror everything she is not.

But she’s tired of standing in front of the looking glass and counting each flaw and having the tally outweigh the good in her. So, she has taken one step forward, the longest step in her entire life, with her arm rearing back, and punched the glass to watch it shatter. It crumbles, it falls, it breaks. The glass spider-webs, the cracks going in every direction and little loose pieces of shards start to rain on the world below. As the mirror splits and falls apart, for a second, her reflection is distorted, made more ugly and imperfect. In that moment, she wished that she didn’t do anything at all, but it soon passed when the only thing between her and her self was nothing.

Nothing at all except thin air so Marinette did the only thing she could have thought to do. She reached out and hugged herself just like she did with Minou. Because that’s what he’s taught her, that’s what he’s showed her that sometimes a single touch is all we need to go forward.  

And she loves that she can touch someone, feel their soul in her own two hands, and know that they are there. He’s there with her no matter how far apart they are at any given time. And through his own touches, she sees herself in a new light, in a new way that is more glorious than the world’s most beautiful mirror.

Minou sees her, sees for all her flaws and all her strengths and her heart is soaring as she launches her yo-yo to grapple onto the side of the building. _He sees me for me_ , she thinks as she propels herself forward into the night and off to defeat evil.

She isn’t just Ladybug and she isn’t just Marinette, but instead...just _The One Who Rises_.

And this thought carries with her for the entire night, is the only torch she needs to help her win the fight. Because she has started to also come to terms that she has no Chat Noir, but lately, that’s been okay.

She’s alone and it’s hard, but she can go the distance and survive on her own until she can’t no longer. And though she desperately wants him--whoever he might be--she knows that she can do it without him. There is comfort in that thought too.

There is comfort that there is enough good people in her life to help shoulder her pain and stress of being Ladybug. For how alone can she really when she’s finally starting to see what it’s like to actually _see_ herself? See her, see how wonderful she is, how _lucky_ she is to be who she is.

And when she gets home, lands in her room and releases her transformation, she is all but melting emotions and happiness and peace rolled into one. She’s Ladybug, she’s Marinette and she’s exactly who she needs to be.

But at her bliss, Tikki giggles, a question springing from her heart, “Are you okay, Marinette?”

Marinette spins, spins, and spins with delight until she holds her kwami, her most trusted friend in her hands pressed against her chest. “I’m flying, Tikki,” she tells her honestly. “I’m flying and soaring and is this...is this how they always feel?”

“They?”

Marinette giggles, shucking off her shoes before hopping up to hop on her bed. “Mermaids, mermans-- _them_.”

Blue eyes sparkle as Tikki zooms out of her hold to float besides her charge. “Ah, the contact emotion is getting to you.”

Marinette nods her head furiously, giddiness seeping from her soul, warm yellow waves that tickle her heart. “Yes, yes, yes!”  

She then bounces on her bed and hops onto the ladder to take the ladder up and up because her room feels too close to the ground and all Marinette wants to do is fly. As she climbs, her words speed out. “I just--this is amazing. Absolutely and totally amazing.”

When the air hits her face, the warm Persian air from a city she loves, her grin is only wider as she zips to the edge of her balcony to see the famed cities streets below. Even at night, the world is so much colorful, filled with so much more music as she can see the notes float in the air of life’s melody. _This is living and this is life and this what makes me happy_. Tikki laughs again and lands on her shoulder and both halves of Ladybug soak in the beauty of their home.

She breaks the comfortable silence first, the one filled of soothing, coziness as their hearts hug. “I’m just...filled with love, Tikki. Filled with so much love.”

Tikki hums, the sound ringing like chimes. “Have you never been?”  
Marinette shakes her head and lets out an easy breath, her palms resting on the banister of her railings. “Not like this,” she starts. “Not like this at all. He’s just...he’s just changed my whole world, you know. He’s changed everything.”

“Because he’s honest, right?”

Marinette laughs and there is no darkness that tries to crawl in the space left behind. “Minou is more than honest. I don’t think you can lie about your feelings or lie about expressing them,” she says. “But the way he easily _loves_ me--because honestly, he does in his way. It’s amazing. It’s not even romantic, it’s just---love.”

“And you love him?” Tikki questions.

“I do, but I don’t need to be in love with him to love him,” she replies. Then she laughs and tugs her hair free of her pigtails so let her hair move in the wind. “I love him because he loves all of me and that’s amazing. He’s amazing.

“And he’s teaching me to love myself because the way he _sees_ me, the way he interprets my soul is so...so awe inspiring. Did you know it’s blue and pink--sometimes _red_. Like Ladybug is a part of me too. That I can be her and she can be me…. And he never doubts that I can do amazing things and he just trusts me because he can. Not because he has to, but because he wants to,” she breathes.

All her thoughts are gushing out and the world is more colorful, more alive right now in the dead of night. Moonbeams are chasing ill thoughts away, the wind is cleansing her soul, and the cool metal of her railing is anchoring to all the happiness contained in her world.

“He doesn’t even know what I look _like_ because he doesn’t _see_ see me, you know? We can’t even speak the same language, but he knows me so well...who really needs words when you can just speak with your soul?”

Her heart is getting warm, thumping against her sternum as she confesses. “He’s just making me re-evaluate all of my relationships and it’s making me wonder how I affect everyone…” she pauses, “even you.”

There’s a pause and boisterous laughter cuts through the air. Two girls are huddled close, arms wrapped the other as they keep telling one joke after the other. Marinette isn’t sure if they are lovers or close friends, but regardless, they look happy.

There’s another skip of the beat and Marinette turns her attention back to her kwami, Tikki still have yet to answer her. And when she does, she has never seen her kwami look at her with just wide large eyes, unsure of what to say or do. _Aren’t you like five thousand years old_ , the girl thinks with a smile.

“Cat got your tongue, Tikki Tikk Tikk?”

To that, the little kwami swallows and tries to speak, but no words are coming out. Marinette wonders if she has broken some Ladybug code, some rule she doesn’t know because all things Ladybug and Miraculous are still mysterious.

The moment is odd and strained and her heart rate is picking up as fear starts to ebb away at the giddiness she was feeling earlier. “Tikki?”

“No one…”

This is important, Marinette knows, truly important.

“No one what?”

And Tikki settles herself to sit on the railing and looks up at Marinette, and the girl can swear that if kwamis have hearts, she can literally see it thumping in Tikki’s little chest. She takes another breath and smiles, so bright and small and _shy_. “No one has really asked how I felt about them?”

The world melts away, zooms in on only both halves of Ladybug.

“What?”

The quantic god nervously giggles and tries wrings her little nubs what she calls hands together. “I mean,” she rushes. “They’ve asked if they’re good Ladybugs or if I’m proud of them...but no one has asked if I loved them...or how I love them….” she trails. “I guess they always assumed that I did love them…”

Oh.

And this is the moment where Marinette fears that everything will change, that the blissful peace she’s found these last few days will be ripped from her fingertips. But having fear is not an excuse and it does not make her strong if she lets it stop her in her tracks. So, with a deep breath, she refuses to allow herself to get tangled in _what ifs_.

Marinette crouches slow, until she is kneeling the quantic god and they are both at eye level. The Parisian atmosphere halts from entering their world again at Marinette’s words. “...do you feel obligated to love them?” she asks, her voice gentle and soft. “Do you feel obligated to love me?”

Because despite that being Ladybug has been the hardest thing Marinette has ever done, she wouldn’t trade Tikki for the world. The little speckled god has been the best thing to ever happen to her, an invaluable friend, a comrade, the other half of her soul. And so her question hangs in the air, between small god and human, because what if all this time Marinette has just been like those other Ladybugs before her, assuming all the while that Tikki loved her.

A part of her wishes she can steal the question back, stuff in her mouth and swallow the words so they never come up, but the larger part of her wants to know, wants to understand this being who has touched millions of lives before her own.

But then, like always, Tikki breaks out into a smile. “Oh, Marinette,” she says. “I’m never obligated to love my charges--least of all you.”

She stands up and walks with her little feet until she hugs Marinette’s cheek. “I just...I’m always amazed at your kindness, Marinette. You are unbelievably kind and thoughtful.” The kwami them floats and the moon gives her a halo. “Out of all the Ladybugs I have ever known, you are the first to ask if I’m _obligated_ to love you. That is proof of your character of just how special you are.”

From her kneeling position, Marinette is trying not to cry despite that she feels her lip trembling because her heart is so warm and happy and filled with joy. So, instead she tries to smile and asks another question. “Then how and why do you love me?”

Tikki laughs, throwing her large head back and zips down until she’s right in front of her nose. “How  and why do I love you?” the god parrots. “I love you because you always think of me a person and not a pet. I love you because you accept the fate the world on your shoulders despite that you never asked for this. I love you because you’re so easy to love, Marinette. You always try, you always do, you always, always never give up. I love you for a million reasons in languages you would never understand, but I do.

“And those are just some of the _why i love yous_ , but some _how_   _I love yous_ are giving you a pep talk whenever you need one, being your friend, showing you all the magic in the world, being Ladybug with you…yes, being Ladybug with you is the greatest way I can show you my love….”

The breath in Marinette’s chest has stilled for how can she speak? And tears are falling freely, streaming down her face as she goes and grabs Tikki into the most precious hug. For the dam in her heart has breached and flooded every cell in her body and is oozing out of pore. And the girl falls onto her back, taking the god with her as she does.

 _This is love_.

She hiccups and Tikki tries to soothe her, but it doesn’t work and now she is only crying more, the sobs racking her chest and little things of air get stuck in her lungs. This is all she’s ever needed, this truest of true loves washing over her in such a profound way, waves crashing, worlds colliding and it’s all because a little god told her she loves her.

Loves Marinette for who she is, loves her enough to be part of her soul, loves her because loving her comes naturally.

 _This is love--love for just you and me_.

Thus, she explodes.

“I love you too,” she wails, high-pitch and almost inaudible. “I love you so much, Tikki!” She hiccups again. “I’m just so lucky to have you and you be Ladybug with me because I don’t think I would be able to do this with anyone else.” There’s a sniffle before she somewhat screeches. “Being Ladybug is so, so, so hard and you know that and I know that, but god--if it weren’t for you, I think I would have given up on it so long ago and I can’t deal with you _loving me so much_ when I just barely love myself and I just...I just love you!”

She feels so drained, so tired, as tears quietly leak from her eyes. “Oh Marinette,” she hears Tikki softly mumble as the god wipes away her tears. “Of course, I love you. You’re my very best friend.” To that Marinette starts to make another whine, but Tikki just chuckles. “You’re so worthy of all the love in this world--from me, from your parents, from Alya, and even _him_.

“You’re an amazing Ladybug and I know you’re feeling a million things right now, but I hope their good things,” Tikki finishes with a nuzzle.

Marinette gasps for air and throws an arm over her eyes to welcome pure blackness to cloud her vision. Static dances on the back of her eyelids from the added pressure. “All good things,” she croaks. “Great things.”

Tikki slowly pries Marinette’s arm away and before she knows it, blue eyes blink up and see red in the moonlight. The god smiles, happy and sweet. “Do you feel better?”

The girl nods and sits up. “I do,” she hums. “I do.”

Both girl and god are quiet for a moment, allowing them to reset their emotions as they watch Parisian lights start to flicker away in the night. One by one, bedroom lights start to dim and lively chatter from the streets before starts to hush. _It’s like the tide_ , she thinks. _Low tide coming in and helping people drift to sleep_. Between the two of them, the silence is comfortable and well known.

But Tikki breaks it first. “So,” she starts, humor threaded in her voice. “To think this all started because you were moved by the _merman_ ,” she singsongs.

Marinette rolls her eyes and gets to lean on the railing once more. In the distance, she swears she can hear a song being sung-- _it’s less lonely_ , she notes. _Happy even_. _Maybe like me_.

Rubbing her face with a hand, Marinette flicks all her dried tears away. “I don’t know, Tikki. Like I said, he’s changing me--he’s changing everything I know with one single touch.”

“And you’re _sure_ not in love with him?”

“Ha, no. I’m not…” Marinette trails. “I love him, but romantic love and this love aren’t the same. I...I really admire him, I think.” Though her heart does speed up when she thinks of green eyes. “But I like him as a person and I like his soul. I don’t know! It’s all so different than with other boys.”

Tikki lands on her shoulder, her voice tickling her ear. “And that’s a good thing, yes?”

Marinette hums, her mind drifting away to the river, to the sea. “It’s the best thing.”

A confusing thing, a personal thing, so many things that it makes Marinette’s head spin, but it’s a good thing, she concedes. A great thing too. For life this evening has proved to be wrapped up in loving and loving someone else.

_The greatest thing you'll ever learn,_

_Is just to love and be loved in return._

And before she falls to sleep that night, Marinette agrees, that love doesn’t need a special category to make it more important than another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, HERE I AM GUYS. I'M SORRY THAT THIS IS SO LATE, BUT THANKS FOR CONTINUING TO READ THIS! :)


	6. Impromptu - A short piano piece, often improvisational and intimate in character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Felix brings plot, I bring the fluff, and next chapter will bring an end to this arc! :)

All good dreams lead back to the sea, lead him back to colors and life’s vitality. Happy dreams, better memories pulled apart and twisted until only just joy remains. Slightly fictitious and fantastical dreams dripping with magic at the seams.

All good dreams start with the sea, Felix notes, as he wades in the water and lets the waves carry him out using a gentle tug. Baby Adrien is no longer a baby, but a merchild with black shimmering scales with a chartreuse shift. Five years stand between them–two boys, five and ten—but laughter bridges that gap easily.

Colors saturate the world, springing forward as the two splash in Mother Ocean’s waters. Greens from the sea, blues from the sky, and yellows, reds, and pinks from giddiness, from happiness, from the love between two children in wonderful play.

It is a good memory, where neither one is aware of the end that is soon to come. Young Felix doesn’t know yet that this will be the last summer his mother will watch from the shoreline. He also doesn’t know that this is the same last summer he’ll swim with people from the deep. He doesn’t know as he squeals with delight that there are dark clouds gathering over his flaxen head, but no one will be strong enough to weather the storm. He doesn’t know that when one thing goes wrong, something else bad follows and follows and follows until all is ruined and shattered….

This Felix, happy at ten years old is the last Felix to have a smile that reaches his eyes. He’s frozen in time, perfect and blissful. Ignorant of life as it moves forward. He’s stuck in the loop of childish giggles and warm rays of sun.

He’s exactly where he needs to be.

_Exactly what I needed to be…_

He does not become the Felix that stands on the shore, that stands beside a fading memory of his mother–a ghostly woman with a blurring face. He never reaches twenty years with smiles that never turn upward for he rarely smiles now. His eyes never dull, his spirit never hardens.

Young Felix is drastically different than the one that dreams now, caught up in nostalgia of a past that no longer exists.  Current Felix, older Felix, adult Felix only wishes that this memory can stretch a little longer, prays that it will continue being utterly perfect as dust settles upon it.

With eyes still set on the image of the two boys, he breaks the facade with a low voice. “I see you’re back again, Plagg.”

Plagg sighs and says nothing for a second. “Dreams are the only place I can talk to you.”

“Because I won’t wear the ring?”

“Because you can’t wear the ring,” Plagg stresses, annoyance seeping out of the small god.

Baby–he’s no longer a baby, Felix–Adrien smacks his tail and washes over young Felix, sunshine hair falling into this eyes. Both boys howl with laughter. Felix feels a wry smile tug at his lips much like the tide that used to carry him.

“I wouldn’t want to wear it anyways. It’s my cousin’s ring after all.”

_A promise is a promise._

There is another pause as the ocean falls to a hush before water spouting tall. Out steps the Great Siren Mother, golden hair and peridot eyes glistening. Beside him, his ghostly mother cheers and rushes forward, this part of his memory grainy because he’s not sure if he made it up or not. But before he knows it, human and siren meet in the middle with their children clinging to their skirts and everyone glowing with adoration.

The Great Siren Mother sings and brushes her elegant fingers over his mother’s forehead, grinning as his mother grins too. His mother repeats the gesture and the boys follow, until all foreheads have been smoothed and touched and soaked with love.

Felix feels a little warm in his heart and fights the urge to touch his forehead now, the impressions of his family’s fingertips dancing on his skin.

“I think you’d make a fine Black Cat.”

Irritation flares through him at the irruption and the dream wavers for a second, but the flicker doesn’t stop the past from happening.

Felix turns only slightly and gives the small cat god a pointed look. “I’m far too selfish.”

“I don’t think so, kid,” Plagg says as he points towards the scene in front of them. “You honestly love the little guy a lot.”

A fonder smile somehow finds its way this face–one similar to that of the present younger self. “Well, love and selfishness are very related. Loving my cousin benefits me and this power,” he emphasizes as he fingers the ring resting on the chain around his neck, “would make me want to take.”

“Things that benefit you?” Plagg asks with a lazy upswept brow.

“Precisely. Besides if giving him the ring means I can have my family back, the sooner I find him–the better.”

At his words, the image of the Great Siren Mother does what she does sometimes and looks towards the dreamer himself–almost as if she’s actually present in all of this. Her electric eyes shine bright and flash like she’s actually listening.

“Because that’s what the Siren told you?

The words are dubious–unsure–the way he phrases them.

She holds his gaze for a moment longer, her smile soft like moonlight and Felix feels his soul squirm. Is she real or is she not? But at the thought, she let’s go and returns her attention to the scene at hand, like she never noticed him at all.

Felix lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding, a shuddering thing that starts to blow the dream away.

His world is becoming dark and even in his slumber, he can feel his body start to wake, start to move to begin the day. He looks for the small black cat god again and finds him blending into the shadows.

“No, because I know it will make my Uncle happy,” he answers swiftly, almost shouting as the world slips away and he’s left standing in a place where memories have never touched.

Then, he wakes up, a siren’s whisper lingering in his ears.

_I think so too._

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

All good dreams lead back to a starry sky, with perfection gleaming wonderfully against inky black. Happy dreams, peaceful dreams sung by constellations that help navigate through life, through living. Dreams that are made whole when memories slip into the tide like currents from far away.

All dreams start with a starry sky, _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea_ realizes, when a faceless smile flashes in his mind as he wakes from a dozing nap. A starry smile, eyes blue like the sky at high noon and a flush covers the top of his ears to the tip of his tail.

The water is cool, not caught up in dreams where he can see stars, but only sees the reality of electromagnetic waves in the deep. Little fish swim by, their pulses flashing for him to see. A sigh escapes him, bubbles tickling his lips as they travel towards the surface.

Under the water, he can feel the angle of the sun’s rays pierce through and knows that it will not be long until _The One Who Rises_ and _Little Red Covered in Happiness_ arrive. With food. Hopefully with food. Well, always with food, he thinks.

His mind travels towards his mother, towards sunshine and things forgotten. Forgotten, he doesn’t know, but forgotten nonetheless.

 _Sisters told me_ , he tells himself. _Sisters told me that mother stole something._

And beautiful siren sisters never lied to their not so siren brother, not fearing their mother like they should, but instead doing anything to protect him.

The charms on his bracelet clink quietly as a boat speeds along and causes ripples in the water. He doesn’t need his normal sight to know the shapes of the shells and the beads and gems that hang from the chain made from metals. Magic from his mother swirls as he moves his wrists to bring it closer to his eyes. He also doesn’t need normal sight to see the power in the trinket throb in its container.

His heart thuds in his chest the longer he stares at the power surge around his wrist. _I could use this to get my memories back_ , he thinks, _get back what was taken from me_ ….But how does he know that his mother truly took his memories away? He doesn’t.

Furthermore, he’s out here because he needs to find her–well, he thinks he’s meant to find her. All he knows that whispers reach his ears when he’s not paying attention, telling him to find his family, find his home.

And to him, Mother is home, a place where her slightly hum is sung and she comes to him. That is home. That is family. With her and his many sisters–not this river in this human city. Not this place where he can’t see because he needs to remain invisible. The price you pay is the price you get. Where if people see his scales, he’s stolen from the ocean. Home is, home is….

Home means a place where a girl with blue eyes can override the magic mark on his upper arm because she feels so passionately in a moment doesn’t exist.

That is a staggering revelation, he notes, and his heart plummets down, down, down. A place without a girl who he calls by alternating notes, two high and one low. Who has a soul colored blue and pink–sometimes red–and watches with fascinated on how it doesn’t clash, but spin in perfect harmony to create someone so unique.

 _All good dreams start with a starry sky_ , he reminds himself, but he knows deep in his bones that she has a starry smile–twinkling, gleaming, bright. And like the whispers he hears, memories come to him too. A dream, a dream–a lullaby sung by his mother late at night–telling stories of love and first flight.

_When I met your father, my little son, I sought the sky instead of the sea._

_Why, mama?_

_Because he gave me wings instead of fins._

And then she sung, deep within her chest and her feelings came to life and colors hazed the waters bright pink, bright blue, bright love–bright and true. For she claimed herself to be the sun and made his father be the moon, separated by land and by sea, but never letting the miles between stop the love that grew its wings.

_You’ll learn this song too, it will come to you when you fall in love._

And as Adrien– _Counterclockwise_ –finally notices that the song he hears is not from memory, but from his own making, he stops. His heart is pounding against his ribs, mind reeling because a heart song is the last thing he needs to learn right now. But he can’t stop the notes as they pour out, bubble up from his chest, from his heart and ring out.

Sweet sounds, soft sounds–like those of starry skies. Of sunsets colored pink with the sun glistening orange off the water. Of red filling everything, bright red, strong red. Of blue waves rising.

_Ah–what’s that word again?_

_Fuck._

His mind feels heavy and he feels trapped and for once, he feel like he can’t breathe…underwater? Is that normal? Does that actually happen to merpeople? He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe…

Maybe this is the human part of him taking charge for once. Humans can’t breathe underwater, right? So–that explains everything. Totally. Completely. He’s just turning human.

Not that he just realized he’s fallen in love. With a girl. A real live girl. A real live human girl.

Like sure, he loves her–it’s hard not love someone when you share emotions and they see inside your heart, your soul, your mind. But love and falling in love are two different things and he’s not sure how he can reconcile that in…the moment?

Not like he’s fallen for the way she’s unsure and hesitant, but still goes forward. Not like he’s moved by her passion, by her zeal. Not like he knows that her eyes are bluer than the sky because he’s seen them. Not like…not like her kindness is more powerful than a siren’s song.

_Not like as if she’s giving me wings…to fly. Because. Because I’m one with the sea._

_Right?_

But why does he feel like flying, like soaring, like letting of everything and finding adventure?  

It’s too much–so fast, so quick–but the horror is starting to ebb away as the damn lovely notes keep thrumming from his chest, from his heart. Because–this is truth. A heart song is seeping from his soul and he can’t help but grin, can’t help but reveal in the way it makes him feel. Warm feelings, loving feelings swim in his veins as he flips and twists in the water deep, deep below the vibrant city.

 _This is what love is_ , he tells himself. _It’s unexpected, unknown, it’s–_

The sound made by a bag of rocks falling to the bottom, signaling that she’s here.

Oh.

Okay. He can do this. Sure, he’s totally realized he’s head over fin for her. That’s fine. It’s totally okay that he doesn’t know how to say her name in her native language. Or voice. Or anything because he can’t actually speak the same way she does. And there is nothing wrong with the fact that, you know, he can’t actually see her because he’s already messed up by letting her see him in the first place and screwed with the magic of his invisible spell anyway.

_If only you were able to control water, then you could have avoided touching her._

_But then that means…not…touching her?_

He shakes his head, his heart rattles against his ribs as he swims at top speeds to meet her as quickly as possible. Because _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea that Brings Clean Water East_ has always been an optimist. Positive thoughts bring positive things. And positivity is all he can cling to when he breaks the water’s surface and sees pink and blue swirl before him.

 _The One Who Rises_ calls when she sees him. “Mmmm-niiiii”, but he doesn’t really know how to repeat the sound, just only knows that he’s name sound.

_A name sound that is not a movement, but a static thing. A name that only represents my existence, not my…not my actions._

_And that’s okay_ , he thinks, as he pulls himself out of the water and sit on the man-made stone beside her. He feels–alive, air tasting sweet in his lungs, and he relishes in the warmth that rolls of her body, her skin. She’s chatting to _Little Red_ for a quick second before placing her hand on top of his and giving it a little squeeze.

 _Missed–you_ , she tells him. Her feelings are strained blue, stretched with longing, but also tangled in warm deep violet branches. Like corals in his reefs, in his sea. Human string caught in the way, wanting to find the end, but never knowing where it begins. Yet what hangs are pretty trinkets, happy golden things that shine like treasures once lost, but now found. It’s like she’s saying she’s found him again, letting her relief glisten in sunshine.

His heart swells like waves, rising higher until he feels like he’s going to flood the entire world, flood it with the green of his soul, with the joy that blooms flowers that dot shorelines and seabeds. He weaves their fingers together, the action reminding him of silk he’s seen his mother spin from moonbeams, from laughter. His sister spins theirs from songs, from happiness, from love. Woven together, knitted as one, and he’s felt so right before.

Though she’ll only gets the impression, he replies back. _I missed you more than I could have ever thought and now I’m so happy I feel like I’ll burst_. But his longing is overshadowed by his joy, by bright colors and notes from anything that sings. From song, from life. He’s the sun at sunrise, at sunset, at night. Oranges are pouring out of him, little fishes in swarm and spin counterclockwise until he hopes it can twirl around her.

She laughs and he can’t help but reach out and cup her face. She stills, her breath caught in her chest as his thumb smooths the smooth of her cheek.

He just so badly wants to know what she looks like because he knows, he knows that she’s beautiful, she’s stunning, she’s a siren in human skin. His fingers go over the tips of her ears and brush against the strands of dry hair. He wonders what color it is, he wonders how long it is. He doesn’t know. But he can feel the way she smiles right now, her cheek fuller as he holds it and she laughs again and he’s just…so happy.

She must know now what he’s thinking, his questioning thoughts coming through his touches because she grabs his other hand and puts it on her other cheek. His hands are slightly moist still from being in the water, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He runs his thumbs over her delicate eyelids, over her brows, her nose.

Perfectly symmetrical, just like sirens. Just like all beautiful things and he can’t help but laugh too as he becomes brave enough to run his fingers through her hair, savoring the way her strands feel hot from the sunshine she was in earlier. Does she have dark hair? She has to because even when his hair dries, it never feels so warm.

Adrien’s fingers catch on two ties as he drags his hands over the curve of her skull. She doesn’t mind though and her fingers brush against his as he pulls them out. She mutters something under her breath, but it’s nothing bad that he can tell. Just silly things, teasing things, and then he feels her hair fall free from their binds.

It doesn’t take long for his fingers to travel through the rest of her hair. The tips only touch the tops of her shoulders. It’s straight, but the hair follows the curve of her jaw. He bets it frames her face spectacularly. He’s seen paintings, some in wreckage, some in things his sisters have stolen from the world above, but he thinks that she would also be something that humans call art.

Art’s an appreciative aesthetic of the eye, right? But _The One Who Rises_ is the aesthetic of his soul. For she is two waves rising, crashing, and mixing into something new. Pink and blue, pink and blue–colored perfection with pretty features and siren magic that needs no song. That’s who she is.

This is who he loves.

And…he just sent her a wave of affection, powerful affection–with both hands still cupping her face–that makes her gasp, and his heart starts beating in his ears because– _oh my stars above, what if she just figured out how deep my feelings go?_

He lets go, panic settling. He said that he was an optimist so he’s positive that he’s blushing bright red and while he’s never really understood human modesty, he’s can see on how it would be useful for people not see the color of your chest in such moments. Because he can feel the heat creeping down his ears to his cheeks to his neck. However, he thinks he’s in the clear. No redness to his skin just yet. He thinks.

His palm dig into the tiny rocks on the stone and he uses the small pinpricks to tether him. Sharp little pieces embed into his skin to have the next few moments put distance to the then and now. Put it far away and leave room to breathe–he feels like he can’t breathe again.

Are…are his gills drying up?

No, gills do not dry up randomly.

_Right?_

But there’s pressure on his cheek that disrupt his thoughts and his mind slows down and his heart speeds up because that would mean–she’s kissing him. Her lips are warm and he can feel the fondness seeping through and color is exploding in his vision, in his soul. There’s electricity surging through him, under his skin and in his veins. It’s gentle, it’s sweet, totally unexpected, and not unwanted.

And it’s a split second decision to turn his head because he just wants to let her know that he at last feels the same fondness she does. Though he knows that he feels more than fondness, but it’s something that least they both have in common. So he turns his head, an innocent gesture and hopes to kiss her cheek in return.

As friends do because–despite everything, despite heart songs and feelings and magic, they’re friends.

But he doesn’t kiss her cheek. He misses her cheek entirely and presses his kiss to her mouth. And if he felt like he was being shocked before, he’s wrong because now it feels like he’s been zapped by lighting from above and there are so many emotions swimming through his mind, his heart, his soul.

Adrien almost pulls away, willingly leaves the softness of her mouth because–he has to, right? That’s what she would want, right?

Wrong because _The One Who Rises_ leans forward into his touch, into his kiss and leaves her impression burning on his lips. It lasts only for a few seconds but now everything is glowing and her soul is flashing bright, in tune with her heartbeat. He doesn’t need normal sight to tell what she’s feeling because he’s feeling it right now….

And it’s all good things.

Amazing things, wonderful things filled with fondness. It’s a soft red, the sky caught up in sunsets and not wanting to let go just yet. He feels her sigh against his mouth and so he leans in too, just wanting to be a little closer because this–this is everything he never knew he wanted. Never knew that when whispers of the sea told him to go to Paris, that this is what he would find.

It’s…amazing to say the least.

But the kiss is over as soon as it begins and _The Counterclockwise of the Adriatic Sea_ can’t help but feel a little bashful because he’s just had his first kiss with a girl he’s fallen in love with. And his chest is singing those same soft notes, happy notes bursting with love, with affection and maybe, just maybe she’ll get the message.

There are only so many words Adrien actually knows that humans speak. So many that transfer and make sense that he can comprehend. There are none that he can actually vocalized, not gifted with siren song, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t truly understand.

And it is a lone memory, the only one he can actually remember of his father when he’s small. Of a man with fine blond hair and eyes blue like arctic ice, but whose smile was warmer than the sun and just as gentle as the stars above. It’s a faint memory, shadowy and maybe not real, but it’s there and it’s his.

And if there is one thing he can’t at least tell her in a language that she truly understands, he’s going to try. They are still close, their faces not that far apart, so he rests his forehead against hers. She giggles and he still thinks of a starry smile. He grins too and chuckles, song still stuck in this throat as he tries to concentrate.

This is the moment he never expected, he never knew would come, but here they are: a human girl and a merman, foreheads pressed together with songs twirling around them.  

He might not know how to say her name the way she needs it said. He might also not be able to walk beside her and hold her hand. There might not be many moments after this where they can be, happy–together–just like this. There might not be a lot of anything.

But there is one thing and there is now.

So, with his forehead pressed against hers, their minds touching, their souls dancing, there is only thing he has left to tell her.

_Je t'aime._


	7. Gigue - often the final dance movement in Baroque suites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love is a cycle, it starts and it--
> 
> (end of the first arc)

_Je t’aime_ , he says–she knows he says. _Je t’aime,_ he feverishly repeats as their minds, souls, hearts thread together, tangling as one by red string.

And–and he, _her_ Minou floods her everything. His feelings pour out of him, soaking into all of her cells, until her body is breached by pinks, by reds; by loves that drench her worldview.

His fingers shift to cup her cheeks, his lips on her lips as he leans in to her. His kiss paints sunrises and sunsets and stars and blue skies. For Marinette has colored his world, merged herself into his memories of things most beautiful. It leaves her breathless, leaves her awed, and leaves her falling, falling, falling hopelessly in love.

For love, to Marinette at least, is as easy as breathing and there is nothing more natural, nothing more innate than sinking into his kiss, where her fingers bury themselves into wet hair and her lungs let themselves fill with him.

He is her oxygen; sweetness on her tongue and warmth in her soul. Her back sprouts wings, feathery things that lift her higher and higher until she can clearly see her world outlined in greens, in blues; in pink and red hues.

Because mermaids and sirens and mermen do not think in static images, but instead are movements and actions and Marinette’s love is an action. It flows--fluid and moving--colorful and real as her merman, whose name is an ocean, wraps two arms around her, holding her close while their hearts beat and their souls sing.

Happiness bubbles in her chest and laughter spills from her lips as her world saturates with rose petals. Pulling back, her thumbs stroke the apples of his cheeks, her plain nails a stark contrast of the black mask painted across his face. There’s a smile buried in her cheek as his gaze tries to find hers; the intensity of his unfocused stare burns her skin. Fondness rests in her bones as he soon lays his forehead against hers instead.

 _We must be in a dream_ , Marinette thinks, _a perfect dream where happy things come true_.

Minou hums, the vibrations tickling as comfort settles in the two of them. The afternoon sun glistens like diamonds and Marinette is reminded of a dress she wanted to sketch, not too long ago. She can see it again, that most perfect dazzling gown; three quarter sleeves and an endless train, with the shoulders and collar drowning in crystals before the wave tucks in and reveals royal blue matte fabric.

Her fingers itch for her sketchbook, but Marinette can’t find it in herself to leave her merman’s side. Instead she wriggles until they are pressed together, his arm over her shoulder and her hand skimming the length of his back.

Electricity tingles for a moment before her mind is filled with images of the ocean. It’s still odd, she notes, the way thoughts are shared between two people such as this, but there is a calmness as her Minou shows her his world.

It’s like she’s underwater again, sunlight streaming down through clear water, and the world is quiet. In the distance, she can hear a song trill high for a moment followed by similar laughter she’s heard before from her merman. Though this time it is not his laugh she hears; instead, angelic giggling explodes through the soundwaves and Marinette turns and sees--

 _\--lovely, lovely creatures from the deep so stunning they take her breath away_.

They can’t see _her_ , she realizes as they swim, their shimmering scales glimmering in an array of beautiful colors. Bright reds, oranges, purples, pinks, blues, indigo--all colors from the spectrum. Long hair flows too, caught in drifts in the sea currents, and float like halos over their heads.

 _They must be angels of sea_ , Marinette thinks, her voice caught in her throat at she tries to sear this to memory. There is a gentle nudge in her a mind for a kind hand, and the word manifests for her to understand.

 _Sirens_ , it says. _Sisters,_ it translates. Love and awe are woven into the meaning, his family something he finds inspiring. There is a hidden note of longing, too, as gorgeous eyes like precious gems turn to look at her, many faces breaking out into smiles, and Marinette’s heart is swooning.

To her, they sing, but it is not her they are singing for. Instead they sing for their _brother_ as she is lost in memory, love swirling in the water around her as they joyfully swim forward and shower her with affection. The eldest, Marinette knows for some reason, has golden hair too, woven from sunlight with deep sapphire eyes and half of her face painted in orange. Her teeth are snow white, her courage and bravery felt in her song as she rushes forward and holds Marinette close.

 _Mine_ , her song sings. _Mine and love and adoration._

Marinette sings too, she realizes, a song surging from her soul that is less delicate but just as raw. _Love, miss you, happy_. And she calls out to her, her name a rolled notes--high, low, high, low--over and over again.    

_Lava Rising That Touches Sunlight_ grins and presses a kiss to her forehead, her hands sweetly brushing back her hair, her touch making Marinette feel precious and wanted.

 _It’s almost too much,_ Marinette thinks, _these feelings are too much_.

But the memory continues to play as more sisters come and pet her hair, love soaked in their touch too. As they crowd her, their hearts all feel woven together, little links attached in a chain, as Marinette’s heart takes each one like a sacred treasure. _Our baby_ , they sing and Marinette does feel _theirs_ , in this moment of peace and love and--

All of a sudden, someone pushes forward and grabs her hands, sharp nails soft against her skin. Looking up, she sees a siren with hair as dark as night with a purple stripe down the center of her face. A low sound warbles in her chest as she sings for _Hurricanes That Drown The Sky._ Stormy grey eyes are calm as the siren gives a gentle smile like moonlight, her fingers laced through Marinette’s, and leads her to twirl. Joy blooms in her soul as this elder sister pulls her and leads her like a ballerina, graceful as the wavering kelp tethered to the sea floor.

More sisters join, giggling as their little brother dances a maiden’s dance, but there is no harm in their laughter, and Marinette is relishing every moment of this memory, caught in the love that swims in the ocean just for the person she holds dearest to her heart. _Hurricanes_ sings, her scales a muted violet with a silver shift. Her melody is tender; sweet feelings waltzing in the water as they do, her fingers laced in Marinette’s as moves them.

In her mind, Marinette sees the story that his sister tells about adventures late at night, where human music vivaciously plays with strings instead of voices. There are sandy beaches with handsome sailors and moonbeams blurring the world, letting her magic seem natural in the world above the sea. The narrative _Hurricanes_ weaves with her song displays her first conquest: the song she first sung that lured a man out to the waves, and hand in hand, their hearts filled to the brim with infatuation as she dragged him underwater, with kisses, with promises of a better tomorrow. There is no malice in her heart, her magic only becoming stronger as the breath leaves his lungs and her voice reaches a new quality.

Marinette’s own heart quickens, her eyes witnessing true power; power that is tamed by affection for her little brother. _These are sirens_ , _creatures so beautiful...creatures so scary._

Another sister then swims over and breaks the dance, sticking her tongue out and whisking Marinette away with great speed, her yellow tail kicking madly. As she takes a peek over her shoulder, Marinette realizes that this sister has bright green painted diagonally across her face, from temple to chin. If glee didn’t roll over this playful sister, she would have thought that it was a battle scar instead. But her name is fitting, not a song sung, but a war cry: _Beware Of Yellow Who Plays_. She leads them to sit on a rock not far from where they first were and opens her palm, her fingers flicking outwards a few times until a black orb appears.

Now in the memory, Marinette can feel her merman’s excitement, _Beware_ calling his name as that slightly held hum at the back of the throat before dropping to the chest as her arms swing wildy. _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East, today is day we paint magic into your skin._

 _Is that...is that his name_? Marinette questions, wonderment and thankfulness spreading through her.

But it does not compare to the way that _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East_ feels... this moment and memory so important, that he still wants to share it with her. For despite his world being made from magic, he thinks her worthy enough to see it, and that makes Marinette’s heart crawl into her throat.

The orb doesn’t bleed away into the water, but holds its form as _Beware_ dips her two forefingers inside and scoops a large chuck. The young merman’s fingers swipe across his face, their trail covering his eyes first. His sister smiles as she reaches forward and follows the path he made. There is magic in the paint as well, it seems, the ceremony of the action taking place as it tickles her skin.

 _Beware_ claps her hands together, and as she pulls them apart she creates a mirror, handing it to her brother. In the reflection, there rests the childish face of the boy Marinette has grown fond of, a familiar black mask now covering his eyes, grinning wildly. His golden hair is splayed around him like a halo, reminding Marinette of cherubs that dot cathedral ceilings.

 _Lava_ comes overs and rests her head on her younger sister, happily calling for the others to join them, as they proudly preen and praise their little brother. Singing fills the sea, the sun shines better and the water grows more clear and--

Giddiness takes flight when two gentle hands whisk Marinette away from the sisters and childish laughter peals out of her. Looking over her shoulder, the memory shows flaxen hair shrouding her eyes, kind fingers brushing the bangs away.

It is now, lost in his memory, why Marinette understands why her merman is so beautiful and handsome and _lovely_ , for peridot eyes peer into hers and there’s a smile better than the sun. The part of her that is not caught up in this memory wants to shy away, the perfectness of this stranger-- _his mother,_ the emotion translates, her name the small hum someone makes when they smile--is almost too great for a human. But she is still in a memory, in a gift that he’s granted her to see, to feel and view it just as he has time and time again.

And his mother sings, harps strumming as she does so, and enchants the sea. With each note, little lights float outwards, glowing with their warmth, and makes her feel protected. Behind her, the sisters sing with her, voices harmonizing with their mother’s, turning soft and warm. Marinette’s eyes start to feel heavy, her heart content, and her soul sleepy.

Mother’s song paints a favored story about a feline god she met once long ago, with bright green eyes and a perchance for mischief. While small, his mother noticed, the little god was powerful, his magic giving humans the power of destruction. For he was a god who grew from unluckiness, painted the same black color that now paints her son’s face. Yet, his mother points out, his power power is not the reason why he’s favored by the people of the sea. Instead, it’s because he chooses people with kind hearts, who can bear the heavy burden of chaos.

His mother leans forward and presses a kiss to his head, the motion saying _and you have a heart that can bear the weight of chaos, my love_.

Marinette yawns - once, twice - in his mother’s hold, and she nestles her head on the siren’s shoulder, the memory rubbing her back in soothing motherly circles. Her hand is settled upon the siren’s heart and the calming beat is all she needs to drift close to slumber.

With her eyes falling shut, the memory begins to fade into blackness, unlike the colorful ocean and delightful world filled with family. But, her eyes snap open when she hears:

_Take care of him, Marinette._

Marinette is marooned on a small piece of land surrounded by darkened waves. There is no sun, just open black water. And there is his powerful siren mother, standing in a world of grey, pieces of her floating away into nothingness with her arms open wide and her face looking solemn. Marinette tries to step forward, but the movement makes her small island unsteady, unsafe, un--

 _My son walks the same path as you, take care of him_.

More and more of her keeps disappearing, keeps _vanishing_ , and Marinette is stuck, scared and--

And then...the memory is over, bright blue eyes staring at La Seine and her merman seems worried and her heart is racing and--

His mother is nowhere to be found, she’s not standing on black open water, she’s not drifting away, it’s--

 _It’s okay, Marinette,_ she tells herself. _It’s okay_.

She takes a deep breath and lets it slowly out; and though her mind is still going haywire, she reaches for her merman’s hand. It shakes with nerves, but she manages to soothe her trembles. The air sings with apologies, his touch telling her the same. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ is everywhere, in his face, the air, his touch that Marinette can’t help but laugh as she presses a kiss to his knuckles.

 _It’s okay_ , she tells him, reassurance in her motions, in her thoughts.

She sees him visibly relax and hunch over, relief felt in all his cells as he grips her hand tighter. He’s trying to organize his feelings, his face serious and staring blankly into the distance.

Tikki flies over and rests on Marinette’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” the little god asks.

With her other hand, she pats her gently. “Yeah, just--I’m just…” she trails off, looking for a the right word. “Overwhelmed.”

“Ah, sharing long memories can do that,” she says, adding knowingly, “As well as the knowledge that finally manifests itself for you to understand, if the connection is strong enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anyone can show you a memory, Marinette. People can take memories, too. But the feelings,” Tikki explains, “the meanings and their significance aren’t things you can always see with your eyes. They need to be felt with your heart and mind.”

Marinette glances at her, her eyes curious as she peers with awe. “...Can we do that one day too?”

Tikki nuzzles her face. “One day.”

Marinette grins, her heart warm and bashful, but her mind drifting back to the image of his mother. Looking over at her merman-- _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea--_ she squeezes his hand for good measure to prove to herself that he’s real and not a figment of his imagination. No pieces of him are floating away in this world that isn’t grey.

“Do you think,” Marinette starts, her voice small, “that magic can disappear?”

Minou squeezes her hand too and turns his attention finally to her, his smile so much like when he was a child that it makes her heart twist.

Tikki is quiet for a moment, thoughtful as she flies a bit in front of them, the sun outlining her body in shadow. Turning around, the sun becomes a halo and makes her look ethereal. “Magic comes and goes, Marinette. One day it’s here...and the next day it’s not…” she says wistfully, her gaze looking through her charge; looking towards the past.

 _Please don’t leave me_ , Marinette wants to say... But she doesn’t, the words themselves too much like a magic spell that will send everything away if she speaks them out loud. Instead, she freezes this moment, makes time stop moving forward for a second, right now forever in her heart.

The moment is quickly over though, when her cellphone rings and she scrambles to her bag that she keeps from the water’s edge. Alya’s ringtone this week pulses loudly as she dives through her purse in a race before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello,” she answers breathlessly.

“Girl, guess what!” The background is muffled, with people shouting. “You remember that concert that Nino and I were going to?”

 _Near the shipyard_ , _near us_ , she wants to say, but doesn’t. “Yes? Are you okay?”

“Better than okay! There’s an akuma on the loose on the far side of the city and I’m the only blogger here and--”

Marinette resists the urge to smack her forehead. Keeping her voice even, she asks, “And Ladybug’s not there, right?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Alya,” Marinette cuts her off. “Do you remember the rules Ladybug gave you last time you were out before she got there?”

“...to stay out of trouble and stay safe and I’ll get an interview?”

She nods, ignoring her annoyance, and continues, “Yes, go hide or something. Ladybug will be there soon.”

“Okay, but--”

“And! If you don’t follow the rules, I’m going to tell Ladybug!”

On the other side, she hears Alya huff. “God, I can’t believe you have such good connections with her and you won’t even let me exploit them…”

Marinette laughs. “I let you exploit them plenty! Just be safe, okay?”

Though she groans, her friend bregrudily agrees. “Yes, mom.”

As she hangs up, she searches for Tikki, who is happily chatting with Minou, laughing about some joke in that language she can’t pick up for the life of her. She’s tried--but it’s not meant for humans to speak.

Both turn around as Marinette’s footsteps echo on the concrete. “Okay, Tikki, we’ve got work to do! Spots on!”

And, like always, power surges through Marinette and it is _incredible_. Her suit weaves together in bright red, the magical fabric stronger than anything she’s seen created by human hands. Her body becomes stronger, quicker, better, as pink light flashes for a brief second. It’s like someone has unzipped her skin and pulled out all the potential resting in the bottom of her very being, to manifest it into Ladybug herself.

Fully transformed, Ladybug walks over to her merman and crouches before him. She can’t feel his skin through her gloved hand, as she allows herself a few moments to memorize his face; she cups his cheek and gives a quick kiss to his mouth. He leans into it, his hands pulling her closer, and Ladybug wants nothing more than to stay and keep kissing him, but she can’t.

Pressing their foreheads together, she lets him feel her reluctance to go, lets him feel the longing that’s filling up her heart before she’s even gone. _Wait for me_ , she tells him. _I’ll be back soon_. So close; he can surely feel the nerves on her skin. So, even if it’s not perfect or in tune, she sings his name: a slightly held hum in the back of her throat, that drops down to her chest for a brief second.

Her face is as red as her suit, but she can’t tear her eyes away at the complete surprise that paints his face. _The Counterclockwise Current of the Adriatic Sea That Brings Clean Water East_ , she sings again, hoping that her feelings have magic just as his does and he can feel--

And he kisses her, making her mind go blank, as he pulls her as close as he can. Ladybug almost falls into his lap, but doesn’t, instead sliding down to bury her fingers into his hair. The kiss is not like the first few where they were sweet--this one is more raw, more teeth--and as desire swirls around them, Marinette feels like she’s wonderfully drowning. She kisses him soundly, his taste on her tongue, and smiles when they have to pull apart to breathe.

He follows though, giving her little pecks, one after the other, not wanting to part. But she has to, he knows that too, and after kissing slowly one more time, he finally lets go. He beams at her, his face flushed, and drops his hands. Ladybug laughs, ruffling his hair as she stands up. Without taking her eyes off him, she grabs her yo-yo and pitches it to the closet thing it can grapple. As she sails away through the air, she hears a splash and knows that he’s slipped back into the water.

Leaving her Minou behind her, Ladybug finds the trail to the concert easy to follow. There is never order with an akuma attack, only people fleeing in one direction, running in another, screaming from the fear of the unknown. No one knows what the day’s monster will do--who they will hurt, what they will destroy next--but the chaos they wreak  along the way is a bright beacon to follow. As the world flares with terror, the path to Alya and Nino is easy to follow.

That’s how Ladybug finds this quieter side of the city: in disarray, with people swarming the streets headed away, because Paris is somehow not always safe. Inside the building, there is loud music playing and bright lights flashing in the middle of the day. Blue eyes scan the crowd, hoping to spot fiery orange hair rooted somewhere still rather than following the flow of everyone else.

And she’s right; Alya is huddled in a shop’s doorway as people storm by, her phone in her hands doing a live blog of the chaos in the city. Ladybug jumps easily from her perch, and hops on a few streetlights, until she is under the awning, too.

The novice reporter jumps in surprise, almost dropping her phone before clutching it to her heart. “Ladybug!”

Despite the disorder, Ladybug laughs and smiles fondly at her friend and biggest fan. “I’m glad you’re staying out of trouble.”

Alya blushes a bit, her already dark face staining red. “Well, you know--” she trails before shaking away her bashfulness. “Anyway, I’m doing as told so that I can score that interview, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Ladybug praises, unable to help herself from putting a amiable hand on her friend’s shoulder. Looking around, though, she doesn’t see Nino anywhere. “Where’s that DJ boy?”

Alya sighs sadly and gestures behind there. “We got separated.”

Fear snakes into Marinette’s heart, but she pushes it away. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him back--what do you know?”

In that second, Alya’s demeanor changes from scared friend to serious reporter. “Well, today’s akuma calls herself Songstress.”

“And let me guess… She _sings_ , right?”

Peering through her glasses, Alya grins. “Smart as always, Miss Ladybug. Anyway, from what I saw, Songstress is able to control civilians with her music… But only the guys.”

Ladybug’s face falls flat, trying her best not to laugh at the irony. “Like a siren?”

“....Yeah…”

Ladybug nods, her yo-yo already in hand. “Got it.” Before pushing the door open, she looks over her shoulder and gives Alya a thumbs-up. “Thanks for helping me out today, Miss Reporter. I really needed it!”

As the doors swing shut, she can hear Alya shout in joy and Marinette decides to press that close to her heart.

 _I might not have a Chat Noir,_ she thinks. _But there are brave people like Alya, and that’s just as good_.

The concert venue is a good size, fitting about two thousand people easily. Music pours from the speakers as bright lights shine from around the corner. The Songstress doesn’t sound bad for a siren... _But she’s no real siren either,_ Ladybug notes with a small smirk.

Entering the hall, there are about five hundred men and boys cheering wildly for the singer on stage; a woman wearing a flashy red gown with a large collar, that reminds Ladybug of the Queen of Hearts. On her chest, there is a white rabbit brooch that looks a bit too worn to really be something that royalty would wear.

 _Gotcha_.

“Thank you, thank you, my lovely fans!” The Songstress croons. “I just feel so _adored_ today!”

With her on stage is a man that is tied up, but he doesn’t seem to be affected by the spell either. By him is also a girl, who is in the same predicament. The pretty singer’s face twists into a snarl, “See, Jean. I’m lovable. Much more than _her_.”

The man in question wears a tight smile. “Cecilia, you’re a wonderful and talented singer, but sadly you lost the contest.”

To that, the similarly restrained girl grimaces, but she tries to be gentle. “You can be the winner, Cici. I don’t want it.”

“But you have to want it!” Cici screams, the world vibrating, and everyone goes to cover their ears.

There is still some ringing in Ladybug’s ear as she decides enough is enough. “Well, Songstress, you sound rather lovely, but--”

But she never gets to finish as the girl spins on her heel and wails in her direction. Ladybug is blown back across the room, her impact making a dent in the wall.

“Oh, you think you can steal my thunder too, Ladybug?” Songstress asks, her voice echoing in the speakers, in the air, all around.

Slowly, Ladybug picks herself up, her back a little sore. She rolls her shoulders and glares at the foe before her. “No. Not really,” she says stiffly. “I just want to help you.”

“Help me?” Songstress asks, her voice light and airy as she descends down the stage. “How in the world do you think you can help me?”

“Well--”

From here, Ladybug can see the green in Songstress’ eyes and in the light, her hair is a flaming red. “Because what can a _superhero_ like you do to help me?”

“I can--”

In a blink, Songstress appears before her, her nose inches from Ladybug’s, but her voice is deathly low. “Because all you would do is ruin me.”

And maybe it’s because Ladybug is built from good luck, with ancient powers spiraling towards the sky that lets this prized opportunity happen. Perhaps it's the promise now _I'll be back soon_ that pushes her hand forward and guides her fingers to curl around the worn white brooch. The energy between them shifts as the beloved piece of jewelry crumbles in Ladybug’s hold. Like dust that falls, Songstress’s akumatized form chips away, leaving only Cecilia kneeling on the floor.

Tossing her yo-yo in the air, the spell springs from Ladybug’s lips, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

Pink swirls swarm the venue and wash all over the people. The man and the girl on stage become untied as well, as Alya blasts through the doors. She doesn’t even take notice of Ladybug helping the latest victim to her feet, instead just diving deep into the crowd.

She’s quickly found again though, her voice calling Nino’s name as she sees him and tackles him so intensely that his hat flies into the air, while the both of them fall to the ground. Shaking her head, Ladybug pushes Cecilia towards the girl and the man as they walk off the stage, where the young women fly to each other and cling tightly.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t good enough,” the girl sobs.

“I’m sorry that I let my jealousy consume me.”

All in all, the world has shifted back into order and so Ladybug slips out the backdoor, happiness left in her wake; the world has once more been saved.

So, just as quickly as she arrived, Ladybug swings her yo-yo once more and leave. Following the path she took before, to arrive at the place that is rooted a home in her heart. But---

There is a quietness that swallows her when she lets go of her transformation. Magic is not singing in the air, and life is not thriving either. Grey mutes the world, shadows standing taller than sunlight.

“Minou?” she calls, her voice smothered by a gust of wind.

The bag of rocks she uses to signal him are right back in their place where they belong, but something is wrong.

 _Something is wrong, something is wrong, something--something is wrong_.

“Marinette?” Tikki questions when she races to it, stumbling as her foot slides on a slippery rock.

“Minou!” she sings as she slams the rocks in the river, La Siene’s water splashing her pants from the force.

“He’ll come, Marinette,” Tikki soothes, her voice unsure why her charge is so nervous.

And the words _he’ll come_ , _Marinette_ echoes for hours and hours to come, when he doesn’t break the water’s surface.

 _He’s...gone_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI OKAY SO IT HAS BEEN LIKE TWO MONTHS SINCE I HAVE UPDATED AND I AM SORRY.
> 
> This arc was hard, there was life, and what not--BUT THE END OF THE FIRST ARC IS HERE.  
> AHHHHHHHH.
> 
> ALSO SIREN IS NOW OVER 30K AND IS NOW MY LONGEST STORY EVER AND I'M SO HAPPY AND STOKED AND OH MY GOODNESS.
> 
> Thanks for reading as always my loves. you're the best. I hope this chapter was everything before I messed it all up.


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